Into the Veil
by julian-juliana
Summary: In Order of the Phoenix, Hermione was never wounded in the Department of Mysteries. Instead of Sirius falling through the veil, Hermione did and landed in a world where her kind does not exist. Magic and supernatural forces are dangerous and dark in this strange universe, but fraternizing with them may be her only way back home. Maybe not.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Into the Veil

Author: Julian-Juliana

Summary: In OoTP, Hermione was never wounded at the Ministry of Magic. Instead of Sirius falling through the veil, Hermione did and landed in a world where her kind does not exist. Magic and supernatural forces are dangerous and dark in this strange universe, but fraternizing with them may be her only way back home. Maybe not.

Rating: M

Warning: Swearing, gore, sexual innuendo, implied sexual situations, and miscellaneous horrific images and implications. Possible OOC.

* * *

**Early January 2007**

The rough rope chaffed the skin on Hermione's wrists. They were tied above her head, and she was hanging from the ceiling of the abandoned storage cellar. Her arms hurt from the weight of her dangling body, the tips of her boots barely touching the concrete flooring. She was becoming light-headed from the smell of gasoline Walker doused her with minutes before. Small miracles happened when his BIC wouldn't ignite. He thought she had done something to keep it from producing a flame, but she hadn't. The moment he dumped the gasoline on her, all her bravery and focus left her. Her heart leapt into her throat at the smell, and she knew she wasn't going to make it out of this one alive.

"Burn, witch, burn," he had chuckled before trying to flick on the BIC.

No matter how hard he tried, not a single spark came out of the lighter. Not even enough warmth to tantalize the fumes coming from her. He left her to get another, and men like him usually had a stash of those somewhere near them. Walker's car couldn't' be far, and she wondered what was taking him so long. Was he purposefully being slow as a form a torture? Wondering if her heart would give out before the big show?

Hermione couldn't get ahold of her emotions. Her nerves were frayed, and she couldn't think clearly. There wasn't a chance she'd get herself calm enough in time to remove herself of the situation. Even if she could, her go-to method would be to burn the rope and that would only kill her. When he returned, she could try again to wrap her legs around his neck and choke him, but he was armed. Two knives and a gun all around his waist, waiting to be used if necessary.

Walker could have simply killed her by stabbing her or shooting her or both, but he drowned Alison Packet, hung Nancy Derek, and stoned Katherine Jones. Hermione never met them but heard about their deaths and thought she had a case. Early upon her arrival to Kansas City, she discovered that these women were a part of the same community. As in witch community. This coven wasn't like the one she came across in Augusta where the teenage daughters of the rich, white politicians gallivanted in the forest, dancing in see-through slips and singing chants to the sky. The coven here in Missouri definitely was a dodgy group. Hermione knew that right away when she walked in on them in a classroom at the college, the girls standing around a beheaded dog and making scarlet swirls on their mostly naked bodies.

After firing a few bullets into the air, she got their attention and they screamed like a gaggle of little girls. All except for one. One of the girl's eyes turned black and accused her of killing three of her pets.

As many of the girl started running around the room, trying to get as far away from her and the demon as possible, the exorcism chant flowed off Hermione's tongue fluidly. The demon tried to fight her off but soon succumbed to the spell. Black smoke poured out of the girl's mouth.

The girl possessed was dead. Hermione checked the body for wounds and found her neck broken, and by then all the other girls had vanished. She'd find them. They weren't smart, and she saw their faces. Most likely they went to the school. It would've been easy to pick up and leave, give the young women mercy. But Hermione kept her eyes and ears close to the ground before finding there coven. Many cases of slaughtered pets and missing children littered the area, and she knew the demon hadn't done all of that. Demons loved watching humans succumb to monstrous behavior more than they liked committing them.

While scouting the campus for the girls, mostly by hanging out at the local bars, she came across Gordon Walker. She knew who he was the moment she overheard him introducing himself as an FBI agent to campus officer. The man didn't even bother using an alias instead of his real name, the ponce. Soon, though, she found out he was the one who killed those three girls and was looking for the others. Hermione would've let him be, but he was offing the girls in a very bad way. Symbolic. Historical, in nature. Torturous.

Sometimes the job meant dealing with bad people and not supernatural monsters. When that happened, it meant using methods outside of mans' law. The law wasn't designed for witches, pagan-god worshippers, hunters, etc.

On previous occasions, Hermione had been able to make some of those dabbling in human-sacrifice to turn themselves into the local PD with a full confession. Most of the time, they refused.

Hermione never tortured those she had to kill. The shot she took was immediate and clean. No mistakes. No suffering. Walker was different, and he had confused her for a witch.

Which she was but his accusation was founded on her being a woman and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Actually, she was rifling through the trunk of her beloved Prius in the campus parking lot at midnight when he came up behind her and saw her large and questionable stash of goodies she got at the local Wiccan &amp; Co. shop. She had tried to dissuade him, but he was having none of it.

It was embarrassing how easily he knocked her out, but she wasn't expecting a male hunter to punch her in the face. The ones she met were mostly gentlemanly. Perverts but sexist in the sense that they saw her as unthreatening.

She woke in the cellar and was immediately doused in gasoline. It certainly was ironic that she was going out that way. She was the only real witch in the world, so she might as well die like one.

Hermione's stopped breathing when hearing the cellar doors open. Walker was back. She heard him come down the stairs and frowned. There was a second pair of footsteps. Both pairs of feet were wearing sturdy, heavy boots. Had Walker brought a friend? Well, that completely eliminated any chance of getting out of here alive. She was weaponless, tied up, and against two fit men.

"Smell that?" she heard a man, not Walker, ask.

"Gas," said the other man. He was not Walker, either.

Without a second of hesitation, she screamed, "Help! Help me!"

Two shadows rounded the corner, and she saw the metallic gleam of two guns being pointed at her. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" she begged.

"What are you?" one of them asked. It came from the shadow of the shorter one, but she reckoned he wasn't short at all.

"Human," she replied. "I'm human. Get me down."

The taller one started towards her but was stopped by the other. "She's a witch, Sam."

"She's human, Dean."

"She killed those kids."

"I didn't. I'm a hunter. Walker was confused. I swear."

The taller one lowered his gun as the shorter marched towards her. The closer he came, the more she saw of him. He was handsome but mean looking. He was clearly a hunter himself. He had that look. His light brown hair was short and spiky in the front, and his eyes were green and pretty. Not the prettiest green eyes she'd ever seen. Far from it, but they were a nice pair. He had stubble on his cheeks, and he was close enough she could smell the scent of beer, pizza, and coffee on his breath. Oh, yes. Hunter, indeed. American flavor.

"My God," the man muttered while examining her. "Sammy, she's a kid."

"I am not!" she screeched as the taller came forward to look at her. She felt like a zoo animal.

"We'll get you home," said the Sammy one. His voice was softer than the other man's. Gentler and sweet. His dark brown hair was longer and flipped out at the ends like many of the college-aged boys these days. His eyes were bluer than green but seemed like they should've been brown. His face was smooth like his voice, and she wondered if he had ever gone through puberty. Height said yes. Everything else said no. His breath smelt more of coffee than anything else.

"I sincerely doubt that," she said and rolled her head to the side, looking as pitiful as possible. "I hurt. Get me down, so I can go kill Walker for being a complete imbecile."

The shorter one, who Hermione believed to be Dean, pulled out a large knife from his belt and sliced at the rope. In moments, she was on her feet and unwrapping it from around her wrists. "He's gone," he said. "Saw us and drove off. Knew he was torturing witches and saw the cellar."

"Is there anyone we can call?" asked Sam.

"I promise I'm older than you." She stared at Dean. "Maybe even you." Her kind aged slower than non-magical human beings. She was twenty-seven and was still asked for identification when buying cigarettes, alcohol, and renting a hotel room for the night.

Damn! Walker was gone and even though she was furious for what he did, the hunt for retaliation would have to wait. She was hungry, tired, and smelly. Her entire outfit, not that it was anything splendid, was ruined. And she still had to track down the other members of the coven. She was tempted to just leave town and come back if the killings started again.

"Are you here because of the coven?" she asked while stripping off her gasoline-drenched, jean jacket.

"We were here because of the women dying. We found out about the witches not long after. Found out Gordon was ganking the girls by irony."

Hermione frowned at Dean's amused tone. The girls may have deserved to die but not by the means Walker chose.

She refrained from stripping off all her clothes. The jacket would have to be enough for now. Though there wasn't anyone they could call, she did have a favor to ask. "I need a ride."

* * *

"You're smelling up my baby."

Hermione arched an eyebrow and assumed Dean meant the car. She caught his gaze in the rearview mirror's reflection as she rolled down the window, letting the night air filter through the vehicle. "It's not something I can help."

"Where are you from?" Sam asked and craned his neck to glimpse at her. He must be referring to her accent

"Not from here, obviously." She then belatedly added, "I was born in England."

Dean whistled for some reason and said, "Far from home."

"It's not my home."

"Got family?" Sam asked.

She knew why they were asking questions, so they could suss out if she was a credible person or not. Nevertheless, she hated it. Coming to America and choosing not adapt to the accent made her stick out. People wanted to know everything about her, especially if they were hunters. They didn't trust her. For a lot reasons. One, she was a woman. Two, she was short. Three, she looked nineteen. And four, she was English. Every time an American saw the gun in her holster, they thought she was a joke.

"No," she said.

"I'm sorry," Sam said and he must've assumed they were killed by some monster. She'd let him believe that. She wasn't about to tell them how she got here. They wouldn't believe her anyway.

"Where are you staying?" Dean asked as they entered the city limits.

"Holiday Inn by the campus," she said.

"Nice digs for a hunter," he commented.

"I don't have to eat as much as you." She eyed the backseat in intrigue. "Gas can't be cheap either."

Sam made some strange, sputtering sound. "It's not."

Hermione paid for relatively nice rooms by taking trips to Atlantic City, Las Vegas, or Reno. Whichever gambling city was closer. She played, counted cards, and got out before things looked suspicious.

"We never caught your name," said Sam.

"You look like an Elizabeth." Dean smirked and it was not the first time an American had said that to her.

"Diana."

"Really?" Sam's voice shifted several octaves higher as his head whirled around.

"No, you idiot. It's Hermione."

"It's _what_?"

"_Force me to keep you as a prisoner,  
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees  
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?  
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,'  
One of them you shall be._"

"Sam, what the hell?" cursed Dean.

Hermione stared at Sam's ear for a long time, wondering about him. Not many hunters, American or even English had ever made that connection before. It was always like Dean's reaction. Her name was rare and was often mispronounced, especially if one were trying to read and say it at the same time.

"_Winter's Tale_," said Sam and looked back Hermione. "Right?"

"Yes," she replied slowly. "Where did you study?"

"Stanford. How about you?"

"I didn't." The boy was trying to make polite conversation while digging deeper, but she could answer honestly about this. She finished secondary school because she had to but never went on to uni.

"Your dialect indicates-"

"Really?" Dean glared at Sam who became quiet. "Forgive my brother. He's kind of geek."

Brother? It made sense, but she wouldn't have guessed. They hardly looked like each other.

"Sam and Dean. That's your names," Hermione verified.

Dean chimed, "Sam and Dean Winchester."

Hermione felt the powerful urge of opening up the door she was leaning against and jumping out. Of, bloody, course. Winchester! They just had to be the ones to find her. Word was that they were toxic to whoever they came in contact with: monster or human.

"I'm sorry about John," she muttered and the car swerved, both boy taking their eyes off the road to stare at her.

"You knew him?" asked Sam.

"No," she answered truthfully. "The hunter community is small. I met him briefly in passing at Singer's." And he belittled her because of her height, appearance, and accent.

"You know Bobby," Dean said. He thought she was lying.

"Hardly. But yes. Everyone does."

"We're almost there," Sam said.

"Spot on." Hermione saw the Holiday Inn sign up ahead. When they got into the parking lot, she thanked them.

"You go on ahead and get out of town before Walker catches your scent again. Once he thinks you're something, he's won't get the idea out of his thick skull," Dean said and she snorted.

"The hunt is far from over, Dean. There are six other girls who need to answer for their crimes. I'm the only one who knows what they look like, where they like to get drunk, and what time. I'll take care of this." Hermione climbed out of the car and Dean called after her.

"Sure you can handle it?"

"Go away."

* * *

Hurriedly, she rushed through the lobby of the hotel and took the back stairs to avoid the guests and staff. When she got her room, she remembered she had her key back in her car. Sucking in a deep breath, she her hand on the door knob. The small light turned green and she heard a click and entered. She stuffed her clothes into a bag and showered and got dressed into another pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and some boots. After putting her hair back into a tight French braid, she winced at the shiner Walker gave her. Her reflection told her it was deep purple and somewhat swollen. Going through her toiletry bag, she found her favorite face and body cream and rubbed a small amount around the tender flesh. In a matter of seconds, the injury disappeared and left behind unblemished skin.

She packed up her belongings and took her bag of clothes, dumping them in the parking lot dumpster. She treaded over to the campus, and put her bags in her car, and she opened up her trunk and found what she was looking for earlier when Walker knocked her out.

Lucky for Hermione, the six remaining girls were roommates living in a small house by the campus. She parked her car a half-mile away and hiked through shrubbery to get there. Since it was a week night and after three in the morning, she trusted the girls were home. Maybe not asleep but home, nonetheless.

The house was foul smelling, reeking of copper and rotted flesh. The scent was pungent, and Hermione debated the idea of calling the police and sending an anonymous tip about the missing children and local pets. She changed her mind, though. She always did.

The sitting room was empty, but the couches were well-worn and squishy looking. The girls were using them, so Hermione crept towards the piece of furniture and slid a small, tied-off canvas cloth underneath it. She put another inside the television which was a bit trickier. She'd come and retrieve them the next day. Six simultaneous deaths of young women were bound to attract attention from other hunters, and all of them hated Hex Bags.

Unlike the ones Hermione came across in the past, these were going to do nothing but make the girls fall asleep and stop breathing. They wouldn't even know what was happening. They'd sit on the couch, turn on the television and die to _Good Morning America_. It was kinder than shooting them all in their sleep.

The next night, she returned and gathered the bags and placed a phone call to the local PD, reporting six dead bodies, using the house's landline and wiping it down afterward. She had done her best to evade the law, but alas, her prints were in the system.

Her wallet was looking rather thin and sparse, and she decided it was time to take a trip to Atlantic City. Maybe she'd play a few extra rounds to make up for the clothes and shoes she lost. Stay an extra night even to lounge about the indoor hotel pool with a good book. It'd been a few months since she was able to sit down and read a book besides the bible. Demon possession was on the rise. One or two a year used to be the norm. It was the first week of January, and she had one so far.

Something was coming. She could _feel_ it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This chapter hops around a bit, starting in Season 2 of Supernatural but will settle in Season 3 of Supernatural, taking place after Jus in Bello.

For those who don't know, I changed the date first chapter from April 2007 to January 2007.

I apologize if this chapter is kind of jumbled. Please read and review.

* * *

**February 2007**

"You're sure?" Hermione shoved her bag into the backseat of her car.

"Yes, Ma'am," Ash drawled and she could picture him half-stoned and three sheets to the wind, lying on his bedroom floor at the Roadhouse and staring at the wooden ceiling.

Her heart pounded and she could barely hear the young man's voice through the rush. Twenty minutes ago, he called her with a case. _The_ case. The case she'd been wanting for the past eight years. It was now a race to see how fast she could get the bloody hell out of town and put a thousand miles behind her.

"I don't want to run across the country for something that's a hoax."

"Hoax or no hoax. There's some serious shit going on at that campus. Weird shit."

"I can't drop everything for every piece of weird shit, Ash."

"All right, all right. But I'm positive this is what you're looking for."

Exhaling roughly, Hermione rubbed her eyes and muttered, "It's worth looking into, I suppose. Send the coordinates to me." She flipped her phone shut and went to open the driver's side door but was roughly whirled around, her face inches from a man's broad chest. She grabbed the gun in her belt holster, but the man grabbed her wrist and smashed it against the glass of backseat window. It cracked, and she pulled the trigger and the gun dropped to pavement. She went for her knife, but large fingers wrapped around her throat and bodily pinned her to the side of the vehicle. This was when she got a good look at him.

"Sam?"

He grabbed the knife she had gone for and pricked her cheek with it. "Is this for me?"

She clawed at his crushing grip. Air-loss was becoming an issue. "Put me down."

"It's a treat finding you here, Hermione. I wasn't even looking," he said, his voice oddly warm and syrupy, like honey. He replaced the knife with his nose and rubbed it against her face, inhaling deep. His grasp on her neck was tight and she was using both hands to pry them off her. The knife found the hem of her shirt, and he slipped the blade underneath to trace threatening patterns over the skin of her belly. She shivered at the cold metal. Her knife was always sharp and wouldn't take much to slice her.

This was not the Sam she met over a month ago who was all puppy and broody. Their encounter had been brief, but she thought it was safe to think he wasn't a creep.

"You're so pretty," he told her and released her neck, only to whirl her around and trap her between him and the car. He yanked the clip out of her bun, twisting his fingers around the fallen tendrils and pulling her head roughly to the side. He placed his mouth next to her ear and said, "Dean thinks so, too. You should've heard the way he spoke about you in Kansas City. Kept talking about the way your jeans cup your ass." Sam's open palm languidly slid down from her waist and cupped her backside.

"_Christo_," Hermione whispered and Sam flinched and backed way just enough for her to slam an elbow into his ribs as hard as she could. He stumbled and she whipped around, folding her arm and raising her other elbow up to hit him underneath his chin. Because of his height, the blow barely grazed him, but she wasted no time in delivering a punch right below his gut. He fell to his knees, and she was about to kick him in the face but hesitated when he pulled out a gun from inside his jacket.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later...**

"What do you mean they killed it?!" Hermione picked up the nearest object, a half-empty Styrofoam cup of water from her bedside table, and chucked it at Ash. Her brain was fuzzy and her limbs felt like sandbags, so her aim was off to say the least.

"Easy, easy! Not my fault. Just got word from Ellen who got word from Bobby that he and the Winchesters killed it. He called it the Trickster."

Hermione shook her head and tears welled up in her eyes. Helplessly, she slapped her hands on the mattress.

Ash stole the seat next to her and held her hand. "Be happy the S.O.B. is gone and can't hurt nobody else. Sometimes these hunters kill each other's monster."

"I'm not upset because somebody else killed him, Ash. You wouldn't understand."

"I can try. Or if you want someone with a more femininely caring persona, I can call up Jo."

Hermione closed her eyes and bit her tongue to keep her chin from trembling. "It's done." Damn those Winchesters! Damn that stupid, puppy-faced Sam for getting possessed and shooting her in the leg, shattering her femur and putting her in the hospital for two weeks. He ruined her chance of getting out of dodge and tracking down Loki.

She was never going to get home now.

'Hey, uh..." said Ash and she opened her eyes. He pulled a flask from inside his vest and offered it. "Little something to perk you up."

"The drugs are doing just fine," she mumbled.

He wiggled it. "It's whiskey."

A knock turned their attention to the open door. Dean stood in the doorway and nodded awkwardly at them in greeting.

"Dean, my man!" Ash saluted him with the flask and beckoned him in. "What brings you?"

"We're on our way to San Francisco. Just came to apologize on Sammy's behalf. He's in the car and too embarrassed to even come say it himself."

"It…" Hermione clenched her teeth together and tried to put herself in a forgiving mood. Not only had Sam allowed a demon to take possession of his body, but he almost murdered her. On top of that, he and his moronic brother killed her ticket home. "It's okay. It wasn't his fault."

Dean gave her a grimacing smile and shoved his hands into his leather jacket. "Well, you're looking great, you know. Healing right up."

"Not really," she said. She wouldn't be able to walk properly in months. The metal plate and pins holding the bone together would take even longer to get used to. Didn't matter, though. The one thing that got her into the hunting business was gone. She should just ditch her car and go back to England with their safe, anti-gun laws and their proper fish and chips. Maybe even go to school. Get married. Adopt a couple of babies.

She should think about this again once the morphine wore off.

Ash coughed uncomfortably before breaking the silence. "Dean here caught wind of a werewolf."

"Mmm," Hermione acknowledged, her eyelids drooping heavily, her tri-daily dosage of painkillers taking effect for the afternoon.

"I know, right?" she heard Dean say, excitement in his tone. "Haven't hunted one since high school. When's the last time you ganked one?"

"I hate werewolves," she whispered and passed out.

She wouldn't see Dean or Sam for another year. During that time, she considered leaving the hunting business behind and starting a new life back in England, but then May hit and the Roadhouse was gone. Ash was killed and Ellen took off to be with Joanna. Loads of hunters died in that bar. Good people. Other hunters murmured about a sharp incline in demon activity and black cloud-sightings all over North America. They also talked of the Winchesters and how they opened the Gates of Hell somewhere in Wyoming. Hermione wondered if they were listening to themselves as they spoke. What hunter would do that?

Thoughts of returning to England vanished when she was on a case in late July. It was her first since recovering and was exorcising a demon out of a seven-year old boy. He talked of Azazel's death and a new demon's rise to power. He said he looked forward to seeing Dean Winchester's soul writhing in Hell.

"There's a war coming," said the demon. His little body was strapped to a kitchen chair in his parents' house. They were in pieces in the sitting room, and the smell of their blood permeated the air. "Lilith could use someone of your skill. Your power. You're letting it waste away into nothingness. She'll give you immunity if you join her."

The child died the moment the black smoke left the fragile vessel.

Lilith. She recognized that name from her early years of Sunday school. Supposedly, Eve was not Adam's first wife. Lilith had been given to him but refused companionship and left the Garden, therefore, refusing God's commandments.

She believed the demon when he said this Lilith was on a rise to power but unsure about Dean Winchester heading south. With a phone call from Bobby who wanted to know everything she knew about demon deals, she discovered that it was true. Sam had died a few months ago and Dean foolishly sold his soul to bring him back. Hermione imagined he wasn't too popular with fellow hunters at the moment. He definitely wasn't in her book. The next time she saw him, he was getting a punch in the face.

* * *

**February 2008**

"Ow!" Dean cupped his nose to stem the blood flow. "Bitch, what was that for?"

A knee to the gut had him sinking to his knees, and Sam stepped forward with his hands up in the air. "Whoa, whoa. If you want to hit someone, hit me. I deser—Oh! Ah!" He messaged his jaw and glared at her.

Hermione wiggled her throbbing fingers. Damn these Winchesters and their flawless, hard faces. "And here I thought I wouldn't be able to do that. I thought you boys died. Your faces were all over the news. Duck!" She un-holstered her gun and Sam dodged just in time for her to hit the vampire behind him in the throat. It wouldn't kill him but slow him down enough to-

SPLASH!

Vampire blood sprayed over her already gored up trousers and boots. Thankfully, the boys were the ones who got the brunt of it.

After spotting the signs in various newspapers a week prior in Cincinnati, Hermione determined Louisville was having vampire problems. Three days went by before she found the nest residing in an old, condemned house.

Usually, hunters paired up when taking down a nest of vampires, but the only person Hermione trusted was Joanna and she was currently in Alabama taking care of a poltergeist. Deaths in the double digits were happening daily, so there wasn't any time to waste. Hermione waited until midmorning to attack. Some stayed and fought while others snuck through the basement where she found a tunnel system. Those that stayed on the main level died, and those that fled, she went after. Five minutes in, she ran into the Winchesters trying to impose on her case, the wankers.

"There's probably more," Sam said and flicked the bloodied blade in his hand.

"There _is_ more and they are going _that_ way." Hermione pointed behind them.

Dean unsheathed his own large, curved blade and turned around. "Stay behind me and Sam. Don't make a sound."

"Yes, because I got this far in life by staying behind tall, attractive me and not making noise."

"You think I'm attractive," he said smugly.

"Hey, listen, Hermione," Sam tried.

She stomped passed them. "Now is not the time." If they dawdled any longer, they'd lose the trail. The idea of telling them to get off her turf was tempting, but pride wasn't an issue she could afford at the moment. And she doubted they'd leave, even if she threatened to dismember them.

They caught up to the remaining vampires and killed them but not without some battle injuries. Her neck was grazed, and she was bleeding enough to need stitches. The boys were lucky enough to get a bit bruised and nothing more.

* * *

Leaning against the table for support, Hermione tilted her head to give the mirror a better view of her wound's reflection. The bandage was soaked from the blood and the warm water of her shower, and she peeled it off to reveal the seeping gash. Gingerly, she picked up a few peroxide-soaked cotton balls next to her and dabbed. She winced and hissed at the stinging. She then threaded a needle and was about to start stitching when there was a knock at the door. Glancing at it, she picked up a cloth and held it to her neck and padded over to take a peek through the peephole. Wearily, she opened the door as far as the chain allowed and greeted the young man with a frown.

"I'm sorry," Sam offered and lifted one small, white paper sack that said Baskin Robbins on it and one medium-sized, brown paper sack that said Biggerson's. She caught a whiff of the heavenly smell of hot grilled red meat and salty, fried potatoes.

"Are you trying to apologize to me with fattening food?" She closed the door and heard through the barrier, 'Dean was wrong. I should've stuck with the salad and frozen yogurt.'

She slid the chain off and opened the door all the way. "Come in. I just need to do something first."

He entered the room and over the scent of rich, American diner takeaway, she smelt the clean scent of man who used a sharper kind of soap and a more mellow kind of aftershave. His longish hair was fluffy from a blow-dryer, and she wondered if he primped for her.

His eyes narrowed, noticing the bloodied rag pressed against her jugular. "You'll need stitches."

"I was about to do that. It should only take a minute."

"Let me do it."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. She'd accept food from him but letting him at her with a sharp instrument, regardless of size, would be foolish. The last time she saw him, she was shot. He may not be possessed, but she hardly knew Sam. From what other hunters said about him, he may look like a pretty boy but was dangerous like the rest of them. Some accused him of being half-demon. An abomination of sorts.

Sam must've sensed her doubt because he said, "I stitch Dean up all the time."

"You understand my reluctance."

"It's difficult to do it yourself."

"I know."

"I get it. You don't trust me. I don't blame you, but it will be faster if I do it."

Hermione cocked her head. "Are you suggesting you're better than me?"

He shrugged. "It's slower to do it to yourself. Yes, the pain is more intense when someone else does it, but it's faster." He reached out and grabbed the wrist holding the rag, and she froze, her instinct telling her to break it.

She allowed him to pull the soiled cloth away and examine her wound. "Please," he said.

She relented and stomped away to the table and sat down. "Fine, but if you so much as poke anywhere you're not supposed to, I'll break every bone in your body. I'm only letting you do this because the ice cream is melting, and I'm hungry and you won't stop pestering me until you get your way. God, do you do this to Dean?"

"Yes. Where should I sit?"

"Here," she gestured to the other seat next to her. He nodded and sat down, picking up the threaded needle she left on the table and sterilized it with the peroxide and heat from his BIC.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

Hermione stared at him bemusedly. "It's ten stitches. We're not resetting a bone."

Sam quirked a smile. "Dean would've said yes for a paper cut."

Hermione craned her neck, exposing it completely to Sam. His fingers cupped the left side of her skull, his thumb resting on her jawline to hold her still. "He did strike me as the type of guy with an oral fixation." She clenched her teeth together and sucked in sharply as the hot tip of the needle pierced her swollen, slashed flesh.

"Did you learn about that in psychology class?"

"There was mention of Freud before I graduated from secondary school."

"Right," he said quietly, finishing the first stitch. "In England."

"London, specifically."

Her jugular throbbed from abuse, but Hermione kept her tears in check. Sam had done four stitches so far, only six more to go.

"You know, Dean and I asked Bobby about you."

"Did you? What did he say? I hope all good things," she said, slight amusement in her tone.

"He says you're smart. Really smart. He thinks you're wasting your life hunting and should go to school."

"He says that because I'm a woman, Sam. I'm aware how it hurts all of your little boy hearts when a fellow female hunter dies."

"He also said he wasn't sure why you hunted. In this life, everyone has a reason to hunt."

"Sam…"

"I lost my mom. A demon killed her."

"Azazel, I know."

"And my girlfriend."

Why he felt the need to share anything with her, she had no idea. Was he so curious about her, he'd surface a little of his inner turmoil for a glance at hers?

His thumb that rested on her jaw began to move in a circular motion, she smiled wryly at him and grabbed his wrist to stop him. "I can smell the whiskey on your breath."

"My hand is still steady. Both of them."

After three more stitches, he'd go back to his room, and she could put on a tiny bit of her special cream to keep the injury from scarring to badly

"I lost no one, Sam."

"Then why do you hunt? Who would hunt when they didn't have to?"

"You don't have to."

"You didn't answer my question."

His thumb went back to caressing her skin, and she couldn't move her head away without tearing the new stitches.

"Why do you think I hunt?"

Sam was silent for a few moments, his brow furrowed. "Bobby says you have no record of ever being born."

This was not the first time she'd been questioned about her past. The first time she was arrested was in London a number of years ago, and during her interrogation, the police wanted to know why her records went back only two years.

"I was obviously born."

"Is Hermione your real name?"

"It's the name my parents gave me, yes."

"So you have parents."

"I did say I was born."

Sam tied off the last stitch and cut the thread with her small pair of sewing scissors. He got a peroxide-drenched cotton ball and pressed it gently against the injury. "Are you really twenty-eight?"

"Didn't your brother tell you it's not polite to question women about their age? Especially armed ones?"

His laugh was short and deep. He raised his eyebrows and looked down bashfully. "He did, but he thinks you're jailbait."

She glanced down at his lap and said, "You obviously don't."

Sam moved forward and put his mouth centimeters from hers. He didn't go any further-like he wanted her to be the one to kiss him. Unperturbed, she simply did nothing but smell the whiskey on his lips and tongue until he leaned back into his seat, pouting and obviously miserable. She didn't take him for being an arrogant, narcissistic man like his older brother. Yet, he probably wasn't turned down _ever_ when trying to seek female companionship.

"Is it because of what I did?" he asked in a small voice.

"Well…" Hermione fancied the idea of showing him the surgical scar running up her thigh and placing his massive hand over it, forcing him to feel the unnatural hardness from the metal beneath. She wished to be forgiving and relieve this young man of guilt for committing serious delinquencies under the influence of possession.

She wanted to understand, but there were precautions hunters made to keep from getting possessed. Charms, talismans, amulets, and tattoos were excellent ways of keeping a demon from taking over. She was lucky, though, and didn't need any of those things. A few years ago, while exorcising a demon from a middle-aged banker, the black smoke escaped halfway through the chant and shoved itself down her throat. The demon failed in stealing control of her body. The magic thrummed violently in her veins and forced out the putrid essence and slithered back inside the banker, using the man's mouth to inquire, _'What the hell are you?'_

"I should go. Dean's probably wondering why I'm taking so long."

Sam went to the door, and Hermione rubbed the skin between her brows while she called out. "Hey, Sam?"

"Hmm?" He turned around.

"I'm sorry about Dean."

A wild, affronted expression painted his features. "Who told you?"

"Word travels fast. And…Bobby called to ask if I knew anything. How to get out of a deal. I have nothing, but I did say I would look into a kind of Hex Bag."

Uh oh. She said very bad words. His nostrils flared, so she quickly elaborated. "Certain magic can work without the help of a dark force. I told Bobby that I'd try to find one and get Dean off the grid. There's such a thing."

"But?"

"I can't find it. Even if I did, it would only delay the inevitable."

Sam's face puckered. "No, no. There's a way. There's always a way. I don't care what you say or the demons say or what the Trickster said-"

"What?!" Hermione leapt to her feet and cornered Sam against the door. His back pressed flat against it, alarmed by the abrupt aggression from the small woman. "What did you say?"

"I…"

"You said the Trickster! It's dead! You and your _stupid_ brother killed it!"

He stared at her like she had lost her mind. "It's alive. We thought we killed it, but we didn't."

"Where is it?!"

"We saw him over two weeks ago-"

"Where?!" Hermione barked and backed away from him, her heart pounding wildly. She grabbed her jacket and her car keys from the dresser. Everything else could be replaced. She didn't have time to skip about to tidy and pack up her belongings.

"Broward, Florida. Hermione, you can't go hunt him."

"Watch me. Get out of my way. I have to leave. Now!"

Sam didn't budge. "He is nearly impossible to track."

"You think I don't know that. Move!"

"He's your monster," Sam said and then shook his head. "I can't let you go after him. He's not some child-prankster. He kills people, and he'll kill you."

Hermione grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to eyelevel. "How did you find him then? How did you and your brother make it out alive if he kills?"

"He doesn't like to be bothered. You hunt him long enough, he'll come after to you and hurt you."

"I've searched for him for _eight_ years, Sam. I can only _dream_ he'd come after me."

"Hermione…"

"Tell me how to find him, and I will do all I can to get you that spell to hide Dean. I promise."

That seemed to be enough to him because he nodded. "There's a summoning spell. It'll bring him to you, but you're not getting it until Dean gets his."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.

**To my readers:** Don't be too concerned about who is going to end up with who.

**Warning:** This chapter contains a bit of naughty stuff. Not too graphic by any means but a little risqué.

I apologize for any errors. I'll do a clean-sweep later.

Please enjoy the chapter! Read and Review.

* * *

**Early April 2008**

Hermione hung up the hotel phone and laid back into the fluffy cushions of the bed for a few seconds, relishing the strain taken off her bruised and aching body. In thirty minutes, her room service would be here, and she'd enjoy her first meal since yesterday's lunch. She made a good load last time she swung through Vegas, so maybe she could stay for a couple of days and enjoy the pool and spa and the local cinema. What was playing? _My Blueberry Nights_ looked positively estrogen-friendly, but _21_ looked fine. She should search online and see what else there was to do in this town.

Following a few minutes of resting, she climbed off the bed and stripped. A little bit torn and worn around the edges, but her clothes would be all right. The angry spirit of Anne Wilhelm didn't take kindly to being put to rest forcefully, but that nasty wench was cutting up Honeymooners at that old B&amp;B on Main Street.

While checking her injuries in the loo, she allowed the hot water to run in the shower before hopping in. The rivulets felt wondrous on her skin, and she let them do their cleansing magic on the graveyard dirt embedded into her hair, hands, and underneath her fingernails.

After washing off, she leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes for a few minutes before shutting off the water and wrapping her hair in a towel. Her room came with a robe, so she slipped it on and padded out in the bedroom and dug for pajamas in her bag and settled on an old, plaid button up shirt that went to her knees. She then carefully combed her hair, wincing at the knots she came across and twisted the tresses up into a bun.

The remote to the telly was found in the bedside table. She opened up the cupboard harboring her entertainment until bedtime and flipped it on and rifled through the channels until settling on the History Channel. Ironically, it was showing a documentary about demonic possession. Twenty seconds in, she knew the entire show was a pitiful attempt at scaring late night watchers.

The food finally arrived at a quarter to eight, and she opened the door to let the server in with the tray. She took it from the young woman and bid her a thanks and goodnight and set it down on the table next to the window. The drapes were slightly pulled apart, so she could see the town as she dined on her beef stew and garlic bread. "Mmm." She licked her lips and sighed contently. Definitely worth the twenty dollars.

Hermione washed her hands and brushed and flossed her teeth, readying herself for bed when she heard a knock at the door. Frowning, she wiped her mouth on a hand towel and went to the door and peered through the spyglass and grunted in annoyance, opening the door and saying, "Seriously. How did you find me?"

"You stole our hunt," Sam stated. "Plus, Jean Potter is a dead giveaway. Using your middle name as an alias…"

"Ugh." Hermione stepped away so Sam could come in. "I know why you came to see me, and all I can say is that I haven't found anything. If I had, I would have called you. But…I do plan on taking a trip to New Orléans in the next few weeks. Always hunts to find there. Anyway, I'll check in the local hoodoo shops down there and ask some questions. See if they can help me. I'll be sure to _not_ drop a name. You Winchesters are getting bad rep these days. With what happened in Wyoming, and everyone knows about Dean now. Ellen is uh…upset." Hermione looked down at her wringing fingers. "And so is Jo."

"So am I," whispered Sam and brushed by her and sat down at the table, eyeing her tray of dishes. He nudged it experimentally and said, "How do you pay for all this? The nice hotels and the room service."

Hermione shrugged and sat down on the bed closest to him, being careful as to sit a certain way, so he couldn't have a gander up her nightshirt. "My secret to keep. Although, I don't always stay in places like these. Sometimes I get stuck with the ones with the suspicious stains, too."

Sam forced a smile. "You'll find that hex bag, right? You promised."

Hermione exhaled softly and gave Sam a tired look. "I said I'd try. If I can't find it, then I can't find it. I'm sorry if it comes down to that."

"Then you won't get your spell."

She looked down at her lap. "Then I won't get my spell, but you'd truly deny me it if I failed?"

Sam said nothing, but his jaw twitched and his nose was kind of scrunching. His fingers tapped on the wood of the table in a fast rhythm. After a minute of this, he sighed and shook his head and stared at her, his eyes travelling from her face to the exposed parts of her legs. She hurriedly covered up the surgical scar on her left thigh with hand and stood to let her nightshirt cover it fully.

"Don't. Please don't," she said calmly.

But he did.

His hand found her knee, and he pressed a long thumb into the fleshy part above, the tip coming into contact with the bottom of the scar.

"Sam," she warned and his palm moved up and grasped her thigh.

He gently needed her leg and said, "I can feel it. The plate. Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore, but you need to…"

"Stop me," he dared and she was surprised by his boldness. His fingers were inching towards the inner part of her leg, tracing patterns on their way.

It didn't feel bad.

"I'm sure your brother is wondering where you are?"

Sam stood up and towered over her, and she realized without her shoes, she came to his chest. Like her, he was wearing plaid only his was green and hers was red.

The fingers returned, but this time they came to her neck and down to her collarbone, landing at the top button of her nightshirt. He bent down and brushed his nose against her hairline, inhaling deeply before taking a step back and shirking his shirt and wife-beater in one smooth extraction.

She covered her eyes and laughed softly, a tad embarrassed from his flawlessly defined torso and seeing that he was in fact demon-less. The anti-possession tattoo above his heart relieved her.

"Sam," she said again, but this time in amusement.

She felt hands on her elbows, and he said, "Lift them for me."

"No." She laughed which stopped instantly when he dropped to his knees and lifted the hem of her shirt up to her belly.

He made a high-pitched chortle and said, "Cute," and skimmed the elastic of her panties with a forefinger and tapped at the clear patch above her right hip. It was her Nicorette patch, having gave up smoking a few weeks ago after trying to run away from a werewolf, only to be tackled and nearly bitten. Luckily, she was able to cleanly stab her silver knife into the thing's chest.

"You like _Lamb Chops_?" she asked and squeaked when feeling wet point swipe above the elastic.

Her underwear was practical and tasteful and fun. She was a hunter, not a model or girlfriend. Cotton was lovely on the bum and the lady parts when fighting or trying to run away from zombies. Silk and satin, in her line of work, were unnecessary. She wasn't sexually active. Hadn't been with a gentleman in…well…a long time. Sex was messy and complicated and doing it casually always led to misunderstandings and disappointment. Surely, Sam knew this. He was an educated bloke and not promiscuous like his brother.

"Yes. Lay down."

Not providing her anytime to answer, he pushed his face into her stomach and urged her bum on the mattress while tugging at her knickers. They slid off her legs, and Sam unhooked them from her ankles and tossed them aside and then stood to place his mouth on hers.

Oh.

Sam was very good at this, and she was having a difficult time keeping up. He kisses were fast and primitive, and it was like he was snogging her with his entire body. With little trouble, she was on her back and being smothered by a giant, and she hardly minded. Her eyes would flutter shut and snap open when his tongue would do something unexpected and new. She sighed in gratitude when he finally ventured away from her mouth, allowing her lips to rest and her lungs to gather in breath.

Teeth grazed her pulse point, and she yelped and wiggled her legs. Molten hot butterflies swarmed inside her belly, and she hadn't felt such a thing in so long, it was like experiencing it for the first time. It was rather uncomfortable and pleasant all at the same time.

Hermione kept her eyes trained on the ceiling. This had gotten entirely out of hand, and she should really make Sam stop, but he was so eager and enthusiastic. Effortlessly, his fingers unbuttoned her nightshirt, and he was making these manly, grunting sounds mixed with appreciation.

She didn't like, though, how her calves were chaffing against his jeans. "Take your pants off," she mumbled.

"My shoes. It'll take too long."

Despite Sam's latching onto a very sensitive place, she scoffed and glared down at him. "Planning your quick escape already, are you?"

He detached and replied, "No. I just don't want to waste any time."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't wait."

"Take off your pants. I know you want this, but at least make it enjoyable for me."

Sam's features darkened and the next few words he said weren't cocky in the least but dangerously promising. "Oh, I will," he said and easily flipped her over and she got a mouthful of fluffy pillow. Her eyes widened, and her stomach clenched unsurely. She raised her head and craned it to stare at Sam who was eying her backside in consideration.

"Don't even think ab-"

SMACK!

"Ow!" She shoved her heel into the side of his leg which he barely registered. "That is _not_ enjoyable!"

"I must've done it wrong." He cupped her bum and rubbed soothingly, the stinging lessening little by little. "Sorry."

"Hmmph," she noised and pressed the side of her face into the pillow and looked at Sam from the corner of her eye. "If we do this, we do it simply. I don't need to be spanked. I've been a good girl."

Sam lifted up the back of her nightshirt and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the base of her spine, taking perverse little nibbles from the tops of her rump. "I don't know about that," he murmured into her skin.

* * *

The rising sun shining between the parted curtains landed on Hermione's face. She pinched her face and rolled over, feeling each sore, achy part of her body. Her eyes slit open and was surprised to see Sam still beside her and deep in sleep. He was on his back with his head turned towards her, and the sheet and comforter were twisted around his torso. Brown, fluffy hair was in disarray and stuck to the pillow supporting him.

Hermione closed her eyes and yawned, stretching her limbs and groaned as they screamed in protest. Especially her legs. Oooh. Ouchie. Sam may come off all gentle and considerate, but he truly was an animal. Phew! His stamina was insane, and his refractory period was laughable. The man didn't have one, it seemed like. He just kept going like the bloody Energizer Bunny!

"Sammy," she moaned sleepily with her hands above her head, trying to work out the kinks, "you're in the wrong line of work. _Oh_!" Several pops travelled up her spine, and she melted back into the mattress, boneless. She messaged her eyelids and yawned again, her belly growling.

"Food." Gingerly, she slithered out of bed and muffled every pained noise she wanted to make. When she finally got to her feet, she decided it would be best to hop from one foot the other. Simple walking could prove to be excruciating. She definitely needed to take a couple of ibuprofen, but first, breakfast. She hopped to the other side of the bed, careful not to disturb Sam, and picked up the room's phone and ordered room service.

"The blueberry waffles. Yes. Can you add chocolate chips? Mmmm. And an extra side of whipped cream and another side of sliced strawberries." She glanced at Sam's slackened, sleeping face, and she sighed. "Double that order, would you? Oh, and some lemon tea, please. No milk for that, obviously. Good. Thanks." She hung up the phone and tiptoed towards the bathroom for what was sure to be the most painful piss of her life.

It had all been good fun in the moment, sure, but Sam—dear Samuel—was overwhelming, anatomically speaking.

Hermione inspected the markings littering her body while standing in front of the mirror. Some bruises were from the hunt, but many of the others were from Sam. Her lips were tender and a tad swollen, and there were hickeys all over her neck and in other more shameful places.

After washing her hands, she slipped on her robe and went back into the room, stumbling over Sam's jeans. She toed off the garment and was hit with an idea, and hesitation eluded her. She dove for the trousers and dug through the pockets, coming up with his wallet and cellphone. Choosing the wallet first, she opened it and fingered every possible compartment, only seeing a few twenty-dollar bills encased in a money clip, a few identification cards with different names, and a few credit cards and insurance cards, and two condoms. Deeming the wallet useless, she shoved it back where it went and started in on the phone and cracked Sam's lock-code on the second time with a 012479.

In the past ten hours, Dean had called eleven times and left six messages and fourteen text messages. Curiosity got the better of her, and she went through the texts, most of them asking where his brother was.

_Geesh, Sammy. How long does it take to get beer?_

_Did you stop for food? I'm starving._

_I want pie._

_Sam?_

_Where are you, dude? Not at the liquor store and not at Biggerson's._

_You went to see her, didn't you? Dammit, Sammy. She's trouble!_

Hermione scrolled down a little ways and got to the last text, sent at three in the morning.

_You slept with her, didn't you?_

She exited out of Sam's inbox and found his documents and came upon a file under Doc7. Inside was a list of ingredients that had to have been for a ritual. She read the list, her eyes narrowing with each ingredient.

Blood. A lot. And fresh.

She spared Sam a look to make sure he was still sleeping and quickly found a pad of hotel paper and a pen, jotting down the information and stowing it away in her purse. Her mind numbed at the prospect of attaining that much blood for the spell.

It wasn't a summoning spell but instructions on carrying out a sacrifice to a god. A human life for a visit from Loki.

Hermione sat down at the table and studied Sam's sleeping form, a deep pensive frown etched on her face. He was never going to give her the spell. The man saw an opportunity for an exchange but had no real intention of fulfilling his end of the bargain. Not if it required bleeding a civilian dry. She suspected that even if she had found the hex bag that'd get Dean off Lilith's grid, Sam wouldn't give it to her. Blood on her hands would be blood on his, too.

When breakfast arrived, Hermione took the cart from the server and wheeled it into the room. The clanking of the dishes roused Sam from his slumber. He smiled sluggishly at her and stretched his long arms over his head before scratching his chest. Silently, she put together her meal, piling her waffle with her extra serving of whipped cream and strawberries and smothering it in maple syrup. She then sat back down at the table and started and said, "Got you some breakfast. Eat up. I'll be leaving soon."

"Thanks," he said and got out of bed and put on his discarded boxers. He took a dish from the cart and joined her at the table. He grinned in surprise at the artistic creation on her plate. "You have a sweet tooth."

Hermione licked her lips, erasing any evidence of cream and syrup. "You were never going to give me that spell, were you, Sam?"

His fork paused midway to his mouth for a brief second and then continued its journey to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before answering. "No."

"But you still wanted my help in saving Dean."

"I wasn't going to allow you to kill someone, Hermione. The spell-"

"I went through your phone," Hermione interrupted unashamedly, ignoring Sam's affronted expression. "I found it."

He put his fork down and got up from his seat. "I'm going to go. Dean's probably wondering where I am."

"He knows."

"You called him?"

"I went through your text messages. You don't give your brother enough credit, Sam."

"Thanks for breakfast." He pulled his trousers up and buckled his belt.

A bit peeved, Hermione gripped her butter knife. "Is that the only thing you're thankful for?"

"Last night was a mistake. Obviously."

"Oh, really!" She leapt to her feet at that and marched towards him, her wagging finger almost touching his. "You came here, Sam Winchester, for one thing and one thing only. You got it, but now that you had it-"

"You invaded my privacy."

"Well, you invaded a lot more than that. My trust, for one. Me, for another."

Putting on his plaid shirt, he said coolly, "I'll be gone in a minute, and we won't have to see each other ever again. Forget about helping Dean."

"I'll still look."

Sam grabbed his shoes and sat down at the edge of the bed. "You saw the spell. Are you going to do it?"

"No." Hermione shook her head and messaged the back of her neck. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Good. Whatever beef you have with him, it's not worth killing over or being killed over. Trust me on that."

A few minutes later, he was gone and Hermione went into the loo to look in the mirror and whispered, "You've come this far. You can't stop now."

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Thank you, my lovely readers and reviewers. Also, a great thanks to my followers and those who put this fic on their favorite list.

Enjoy the chapter. Read and Review. I apologize to those who may be upset that there's not enough of the Winchester Boys in it. I do plan on trying to remedy that, but it really just depends on where these fingers take me. Another thing, I'm sorry for the sort-of-shortness for this chapter. It's an epic one and deserves to be longer but just didn't happen that way. Anyway, read on, my lovelies.

* * *

I-240 was packed with speeding cars, and Hermione pressed on the gas to keep up. It was nearly sunset, and she'd probably have to pull over in a couple of hours and find a room for the night. Memphis was right behind her when her cellphone buzzed on its placeholder above the radio. She scoffed when seeing Sam's number pop up on the screen and almost let him go to voicemail but changed her mind and flipped the phone open and put it on speaker.

"What?" she said bitterly.

"_Hey there, princess."_

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed more weight on the gas pedal. "Dean."

"_How's Louisiana?"_

"I'm not there yet."

"_Good,"_ he crooned. _"The thing is, you don't have to go to New Orleans."_

Pursing her lips inquiringly, she asked, "Don't I?"

"_No." _His tone turned into annoyed growl._ "Sam lied to you."_

"I know," she replied curtly.

"_I meant about the hex bags. We already have them."_

"What?!" Hermione nearly slammed on the brakes. Instead, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and glared at the cutesy, yellow Volkswagen Beetle in front of her.

_"Not going to go into detail how we got them, but we've had them for a couple of months. Before you even offered to get them for me and Sammy, I hear."_

"I've been…" Hermione exhaled loudly, groaning and cursing Sam Winchester's existence. Why would he lie about that?

"_I know. I know. Believe me, when I found out, I gave him a verbal beat-down. He feels bad now."_

"Why did he lie? If you already have them, then why need me? He was never going to give me that ritual, so what's the bloody point?"

Dean chuckled nervously. _"Thing is about my brother, he likes you. Or did like you. I'm not so sure anymore. I think he believed that if you two were able to stay connected over something, he'd have reason to see you more often. Maybe you'd find something better than the hex bags we got."_

"And he couldn't say he wanted to see me more often? He couldn't ask me to find something better? Dean!" Hermione spat. "Your brother pisses me off!"

"_Yeah, I'll get you a t-shirt, too. Another thing, though."_

"Hmm?"

"_Sam said you weren't going to do the summoning spell. I just want to make sure that's all cleared up."_

"I'm not doing it," she lied. "I'll keep tracking him."

_"Forget about him. He's not like anything you've hunted. You are way out of your league with this. Going after him, especially alone, is suicide."_

"This has been a lovely chat. You take care, Dean. I mean it." Hermione ended the call and debated whether to get off on the next exit and start on the ritual or keep driving to New Orleans. For the sake of Dean, she decided on the latter. Perhaps there was something better to be found. She hardly knew the man and only knew his brother in the biblical sense, but she couldn't live with herself if she allowed a fellow hunter to die without putting as much effort into his saving as possible.

**June 2008**

Raleigh, North Carolina

"May I say you are breathtaking, Miss," said the man across from Hermione. His accent was smooth like southern honey on a warm day. It didn't hurt that his teeth were white, and his dirty blond hair was groomed perfectly. He also had a 401K, spectacular benefits from being an oral surgeon, and a Hybrid Escalade. His ex-wife lived in Austin with their seven year old daughter, and he was thirty-eight years old.

She smiled and bit her bottom lip, cupping her chin and staring at him shyly. "You're a charmer, Mr. Thomas," the solid, American R's feeling funny on her tongue.

"I only say the truth. And, please, call me Geoffrey."

"All right." Hermione softly chuckled and took a sip of her club soda. "Geoffrey."

"Jean," he said. "You don't hear that name too much anymore. I like it."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The waitress arrived with their food, serving Hermione her chicken salad and Geoffrey his halibut. While drizzling her Italian dressing on the dish, she studied the way her companion took a lemon wedge and squeezed the juices onto his meat and inspected how he sliced into it with immaculate precision.

"I'm glad we finally got to meet. I knew after we first messaged each other that I wanted to meet you," he informed before taking a bite of his fish. "What was it like growing up in Massachusetts? I think I've asked this question, but I hear it's a nice place."

"It is." Hermione nodded and gathered some lettuce onto her fork. "Cold in the winter, though. Is Savannah as wonderful as it sounds?"

"Better. I hope you get to see it someday."

Licking her lips, Hermione then replied without missing a beat, "I hope I do, as well."

"So I've been dying to ask," said Geoffrey while wiping his mouth with his napkin. "How does a girl like yourself resort to dating sites?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow and grinned in confusion. "Meaning?"

"Look at you. Are those Massachusetts boys blind or stupid, if you don't mind me asking?"

She stared down at her salad and nibbled on her bottom lip, tracing a pattern on the table with a fingernail. Shrugging, she whispered, "I just haven't had such great luck with men. I decided to see what other places had to offer. Maybe there were gentlemen out there with great vision and impressive intellect. I'm not disappointed."

Geoffrey beamed and sipped at his wine. "You sure you don't want a glass for the evening. It'll relax you."

"I don't want to be all fuzzy-brained driving back to my hotel. Plus, I have an early flight back home tomorrow." She sighed and smiled delicately. "I don't want to go. Is that silly of me to say?"

"Then don't go. Stay. Just for another few days."

Hermione shook her head and giggled. "I can't. Work. Obligations."

"The office can't go another day without you?"

"I'm very important. No, they can't." Bashfully, Hermione stared out the window beside them, looking at the dark, glistening waters of the lake. "But we don't have to say goodbye tonight."

* * *

"I like your car," Geoffrey said and ran his hand along the dashboard. "It's a smooth drive and eco-friendly."

"Thank you." Hermione gently pushed harder on the gas, running a yellow light. "Sorry. I'm a little excited. I've been waiting for this night a long time. Phone calls and messaging aren't enough"

He put his hand on her stocking-clad thigh and squeezed. "Me, too. How far away is your hotel from here?"

"Just a few more minutes."

His hand slid higher, and he said, "I love the dress you wore for me tonight. These stockings are lovely."

"You should see what else I wore for you tonight," Hermione stated breathlessly and then added, "or didn't wear."

His fingers were about _there_ when she took a sharp, violent right into an alley and saw in her peripheral vision Geoffrey's head colliding with the passenger side window. The impact cracked the glass, and he cursed, "What the hell!"

Hermione unbuckled her seatbelt and balled up a fist, punching the man in the jaw. He swore again and cupped the injury and barked, "What are you doing, Jean?"

She slammed her elbow into his crotch and then his sternum and then opened the glove box and pulled out her taser and dug it into his side before turning it on. He gurgled in response, pulsating bodily and then slackening. She put the taser back into the glove box and got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and catching Geoffrey as he nearly toppled to the filthy pavement below. With all her strength, she dragged him to the door of the neighboring building. It was abandoned and condemned and perfect for what she had in mind.

Once inside, Hermione maneuvered him into the middle of the wide, open area where she had her summoning ritual set up. Carelessly, she let go of Geoffrey, ignoring the loud_ thunk_ his body made against the cement flooring, and checked for any errors in the chalk markings she drew two hours previously. Everything seemed perfect.

This was it. Twelve years in this wretched place done with...quite possibly.

Hopefully.

By sacrificial obligations, Loki was bound to return a favor. Dropping her back in her universe shouldn't be terribly hard. It hadn't been that difficult to get here to begin with.

Her heart slowly ascended into her throat and hammered uncontrollably in anticipation and dread. Inhaling deeply, a tear escaped her cheek as she knelt in front of the markings and ceramic bowl full of ground up coyote bones. With shaking fingers, she lit a match and tossed it into the bowl and quickly grabbed the knife by it and chanted the spell. She got to her feet and gripped Geoffrey and awkwardly held him up by his scalp. He stirred and jolted in her arms.

"What's going on?" he asked sluggishly.

Her grip on his hair tightened, and she put the blade to his throat. "Stop!" he begged. "Please. Don't do this. You don't have to do this."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and was about to slash the man's throat when she heard the door she came through being opened and closed.

"Please help me," cried Geoffrey as his weakly struggle, his sobs wretched. "Oh, God! She's going to kill me. She's going to kill me."

Sam emerged from the darkness and stepped in front of her makeshift altar, his 1911 Colt in one hand. His other was up in a peaceful, surrendering gesture. He looked strong and handsome in his blue plaid shirt, fitting jeans, and boots. In the most delicate, careful voice, he said, "Don't do this, Hermione. You're not a murder."

Like a dam breaking, tears flowed freely down her cheeks but she kept the knife flush against the man's neck. She swallowed thickly and tried to pull herself together by breathing evenly. When she finally had a grasp on her emotions, she said, "And you're not Sam."

He stepped forward and patted his chest. "It's me and whatever you think is important enough to kill this man over, it's not."

Hermione shook her head. "Sam Winchester is holed up somewhere drinking himself into oblivion." A sob caught in her throat. "It's you, isn't it?"

The man smirked and holstered his gun and morphed into a man only a few inches taller than herself with brownish black hair and twinkling dark eyes. He brought his hand up in front of him and snapped. Geoffrey blew apart in her arms. Copious amounts of blood and strips of meat sprayed onto her face, black cocktail dress, and fake Jimmy Choos. A startled gasp escaped her lips, and she dropped her knife and stared down at her attire and the bits of human tissue stuck to it.

He just...killed Geoffrey by _snapping_! Oh, God, what was this thing?

"Mmm." Loki shook his head as if disappointed. "I really wanted to make him suffer, you know? It's not every day I allow myself a serial killer. Ooh, the things he did to those women. You picked a good one, missy. Some think I prefer the pure and untainted. No. It's the monsters I dig. Mostly."

"I need your help," Hermione managed shakily as she peeled of a patch of Geoffrey's muscle tissue from her forearm.

The smirk melted off his face, and his eyes glittered dangerously. "I don't help anyone."

"If you could simply-"

Loki waggled his finger at her and laughed. "I _know_ who you are."

Hermione frowned. "Do you?"

"You've tried to find me for a _long_ time. The trouble is…" A presence appeared behind Hermione and the Trickster's voice whispered in her ear, "I am everywhere and nowhere." The man in front of her dissolved like a mirage, and she turned around to look at the new image. His clothes were different but aside from that, he was the same. He cringed at her. "Eugh! Carrie got nothin' on you, sweetheart." His thumb and forefinger come together, and Hermione bristled, thinking he might do to her what he did to Geoffrey. However, he dropped his arm. "Nah. You look hot this way."

"Hear me out."

"Uhhhhh, no."

"Please. I'll give you-"

"I don't make deals, sweetheart. Besides," he shrugged, "I already know what you want. Like I said, I know who you are, but...I can't help you."

"If you know, then…" Hermione shook her head. "Can't or won't?"

The Trickster grinned. "I like you. You're sassy. But you got me. I _won't_."

Twelve years of being away from her world, and no one ever knowing what she was and never properly connecting with anyone. Eight years of searching for some powerful-enough being to send her back home, and it's was coming down to this—a bloody _'I won't._'

"I don't belong here," she strained. "Don't you understand? I can't have a life here. I'm a _freak_! If people knew what I was, they'd kill me!"

The man cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips in mock sympathy. "They wanted to kill you back there, too. Or have you forgotten? Mudblood."

Hermione closed her eyes. The way he said that horrid word was not at all spiteful or putrid but merely a remindful phrase. And she did remember. She remembered vividly of how she arrived to this realm and the unpolluted animosity behind it. "I have definitely _not_ forgotten."

"Yet, you want to go back? Forget about that place," he said lightly. "You've been doing fine here."

"I can't. It's my home. I have a family there. My parents. They think I'm dead."

"And you are. Twelve years is a long time."

"I know that, but they'd understand. I would explain…"

The Trickster shook his head. "No. I'm not going to take you home."

"Why not? Please. I beg of you." Unable to stop herself, more tears fell down her cheeks again, cutting tracks in Geoffrey's blood. She hadn't wept this much in ages. It was like her body couldn't withstand holding back any longer.

"And bore you with the details?" He batted a hand at her dismissively and then stared at her for a long moment. He shoulders then sagged and his tone grew softer. "Look, I know this sucks, but I won't help you. What I will do is tell you something that I know."

Sniffling, Hermione knit her brows together in confusion. "What…"

He waggled his eyebrows, "You think you're alone here. What if I told you that _you_ weren't? Go home, kid. Put those pretty ears to the ground and listen."

Hermione gasped when he disappeared right in front of her. She stomped her foot. "Shit! You son of bitch! Come back here!"

She jerked when he reappeared. He waggled his eyebrows again. "A gift to help you through the difficult times ahead. You're going to need it." His arm lifted and extended as if throwing a ball. An invisible force collided with her chest, and she landed flat on her back, the wind knocking out of her. Electrical currents vibrated through her body, and she hissed in pain. The discomfort became so much to bear, her vision clouded until ultimately blackening. While unconscious, her body twitched and contracted for almost an hour before finally relaxing and her mind succumbed to a deep slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thank you readers and reviewers and followers. Thank you to those who put this fic on their favorite list. :) I sure do appreciate it. Also, a big thanks to those who are giving this fic a chance even if they aren't familiar with the show Supernatural or the HP books.

**To answer a few questions:** Yes, the Trickster is Gabriel. His eyes look dark to me, but if they're not then oh well. Yes, to the action, adventure, sex, blood, and gore! :) Yes, the Trickster meant there are other witch(es)/wizards(s). More information on the veil will come forward in later chapters.

Read and Review, please. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The unpleasant, somewhat cold cement pressing against Hermione's face and body finally registered to her unconscious mind. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on the blood of Geoffrey, and the memories of the Trickster flooded her mind like an out of control, broken faucet. A tear escaped and landed on the dried stains as she struggled to move. Every bone and muscle hurt. After a solid ten seconds, she was able to move onto her back and stare up at the ceiling. The unlit light on the ceiling flickered on, the buzzing sound of electricity filling her ears. The sounds sped up and the light grew brighter to the point that the bulb shattered. Barely managing a gasp, she was able to cover her face as shards of glass poured down upon her exhausted frame.

After a few trying minutes, she got to her feet, abandoned her shoes, and limped out of the building. The sun was out but thankfully no one was sharing the alley with her. She rested against her car briefly before oozing inside and grabbing the keys from the drink holder. She shoved it into the ignition and turned, screaming when the radio short circuited, smoke billowing out of the CD dispenser. Frowning, she reached out to touch it when her airbag set off and hit her in the face, knocking her out.

When she came to, her body was heavier than she remembers and the sun is brighter, too. Quickly, she realized that it wasn't the sun but another light, and the white-ish yellow hue was fuzzy and unwelcomingly reflecting off the surrounding white walls. Lethargically, she attempted to move and found that her hands were fastened to something. She looked at her right hand and saw a handcuff around the wrist. Breathing catching in her throat, she saw that her other wrist had the same treatment.

Two men walked in, one in scrubs and the other in a suit and a trench coat.

"Do you mind if I question her?" the one in the suit asked the other.

"I can't guarantee how lucid she'll be but yes."

The man nodded and stepped forward and towered over her hospital bed because that's where she was. In the hospital. She wasn't sure how she got there or what happened. All that she knew was that her wrists were cuffed to the railings, and she could barely move let alone barely think.

"What happened?" she croaked. Oh, she needed water and loads of it.

"I was hoping you could tell me, Miss Granger."

"How do you know my name?"

The man nodded and chuckled. "Oh, I know a lot of about you, Hermeee…" The man pulled out a file from his coat and flipped it open, "_ooooneee_."

"It's Hermione."

"Course it is," he said and waggled the folder. "This doesn't even cover a fourth of what we have on you. Do you realize how much trouble you're in? You were discovered in your car covered in blood, most of it not even yours. We know you killed Dr. Geoffrey Shane. My people identified the scraps you left him in at that building."

"No, you don't understand-"

"He was the Goodnight Murderer. We know. His DNA matched with the evidence taken from his prior victims. As much as I am elated he's off the streets, you can't be dismissed. We know you made a fake online-dating account under the alias of Jean Potter to lure Shane in. We saw what you drew on the the floor." He held up a picture of her blood-drenched altar. "I got this case from Pharrel. Remember him? I thought he was joking when he claimed you a Satanist. Also, my found several different credit cards and insurance cards under different aliases in your car. In trunk, at least six unregistered firearms and some weird-ass knives. Let's not mention the handful of warrants asking for your arrest, not only here in America, but in England, too. Oh," he paused and grinned maliciously and pulled from the folder a photograph, "and my favorite. You're a prime suspect in over twenty murder cases, especially this one." He held up a picture of a face Hermione hadn't seen in five years and turned her head away from the officer and vomited.

"Ugh," she heard over her retching. "What'd you give her?"

The doctor replied, "Her muscles were incredibly inflamed, and her nose was broken. I gave her a heavy dosage of pain killers and an anti-inflammatory. Nausea is quite common."

Sweat gathered at Hermione's brow as she retched, and the doctor called in some nurses to help clean her up. She read their badges and kindly asked one of them what day it was, and they said it was the tenth of June. For three days, she'd been unconscious. Bloody hell, what did the Trickster do to her?

Once the nurses left, the officer resumed talking. "It'd be easier to send you back home. Have the Brits deal with you. The paperwork you require is _awful_. Get some rest, Granger. You're not going to get much in the next few months."

* * *

**Early August 2008**

Bobby's droopy couch felt wonderful against the front part of her body. Seven weeks in a jail-cell and sleeping on those rock-hard bunk beds nearly drove her batty. Not to mention the lovely cellmates she had, as well, who just were as sweet as a fresh cup of hot chocolate on a chilly Christmas day.

God, they were awful! That one woman, Trixie, was on trial for killing her three year old. Hermione had half a mind to leap from her top bunk in the night and smother her with those scratchy, flat pillows. Dwelling in that forsaken place almost made her believe she was hunting the wrong monsters.

Two month ago, when Hermione was released from medical care and into the lovely hands of the authorities, she immediately began planning her escape. She refused to deal with her trial and die in prison with several life sentences, here in the States or in England, so she set to work on sneaking out of jail. Six weeks and she had nothing to show for it. The seventh week, she discovered what the Trickster had done to her. She'd been eating her lunch, or more like picking at it, when Pandora, her other cellmate, came at her with a plastic spork. Easily, Hermione grabbed the woman's wrist and throat and pushed her back enough, so she could get up from her seat and properly defend herself. Pandora leapt for her again, and Hermione grabbed her arm, keeping it straight and stretching it away from her behind her back with a foot on her hip. Guiltily, she had contemplated breaking the woman's arm but instead knocked her face against the edge of the table. The guard arrived at the last end of it and unsheathed her baton and went to strike Hermione with it when the upper half splintered off before even making contact with any part of Hermione's body. It was like it hit a solid barrier, and at the time, Hermione had wished for one.

That night on her bunk, Hermione dared to extend her finger and think of fire and wrote her name in the air, leaving behind flaming letters. Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she laughed. Her magic was completely alive. Since arriving to this world, she could only master small, frivolous things like opening locked doors and cooling down her piping hot tea. With no wand, she believed it impossible to channel her magic properly. She had tried wandless ages ago, but it hadn't worked and ended up getting many nosebleeds and headaches in the process.

Five days later, she lay on her raggedy mattress again looking up at the ceiling and listening to the retched snores of her cellmates. She could simply hop off the bunk and go to the door and open it. She could open them _all_ without breaking a sweat, but there were guards out there patrolling. No, her plan involved something that scared and excited her. If it went wrong, it could be deathly.

Hermione's eyes had fluttered closed, and she crossed her arms above her chest. Breathing in deeply, she thought, _"Bobby's junkyard,"_ and felt as though she was being squeezed into a noodle like consistency, whipped around, and blown up like a balloon. She had tried landing on her feet, but the momentum was too forceful, and she sank to her knees and vomited into some brush. When her stomach had settled, she looked around and saw that she was behind a pile of beaten up cars next to Bobby's fence-line. She wobbled towards his house and knocked on the door. Thankfully, the light was still on. It had to be nearly two in the morning.

Bobby looked a right, pathetic mess with blood-shot eyes. He smelt of several kinds of alcohol and body odor. And though he was utterly pissed, he still had enough sense to test her skin with a silver blade and to make her drink some holy water. His house was a sty, empty liquor bottles everywhere. Hermione made no comment, but the next morning after a good night's rest in the extra bedroom, she cleaned up the place a bit. She knew once she left it would go back to the way it was, but she wanted to show some gratitude. Bobby was housing an escaped murder convict.

Now, she was on the couch, and the television was on, _The Simpsons_ showing. She wasn't really paying attention but listening to Bobby in the other room, slurring on the phone and pretending to be part of the FBI for some hunter out there. After a while, she tuned him out and thought about the Trickster and what he said about going home and putting her ears to ground. Could there be more of her kind out there? Illogical! Impossible! Absurd!

Hermione sighed miserably. The relishing high of having access to her full powers had depleted. She had her magic, but she wasn't back in her world. The one thing that was supposed to help her refused, and she was stuck forever. With this magic. In a world where people like her kill people like her. Even Bobby, the generous man that he is would shoot her in the back if he knew what she was and what she could do.

Bart slugged Lisa on the telly, and Hermione groaned. She had to get back to England, but she needed a new ID and paperwork. She, most of all, needed to rest and regroup. But not at Bobby's.

**Late November 2008**

"Gwen?"

Hermione pulled her eyes away from the peaceful, outside view of falling snow and looked at the nurse. She looked familiar. Her nametag said Jenny, but Hermione always forgot the staffs' names after her morning cocktail.

"Your brothers are here to pay you a visit."

"My brothers?"

_Oh no! She forgot she had brothers, too!_

Horrified, she gazed passed Jenny and saw Sam and Dean standing side by side in their boots, plaid, and jeans. Sam's hair was _awful_, and Dean…

_Dean!_

"No," Hermione whimpered and shook her head. The drugs were making her hallucinate again. The doctors, they said if that were to happen again, she needed to tell them. She got up to do just that, but Jenny grabbed her shoulders.

"It's okay," the woman cooed. "It's okay, Gwen. Sit back down."

"Hey, Guinevere," said Dean, the name rolling awkwardly of his tongue. "It's _me_ and Sam."

"Come join her at the table. She was just finishing up a puzzle. You're sister really has a knack for them, and _you_," she said to Hermione gently, "sit back down."

Hermione nodded and slowly took a seat and stared at her unfinished puzzle of the Buckingham Palace while Sam and Dean sat in the two seats across from her. The table was so narrow, that their shoulders touched.

"I'll leave you three alone. You need anything, Gwen, you let me know," said Jenny and flashed a flirtatious smile at the boys before sashaying away. Dean unashamedly glanced at her scrub-clad bum.

"You're not real," Hermione mumbled and picked up an unattached puzzle piece and found its spot with the rest of the assemblage.

"Hermione," Sam started, "are you all right?"

"What kind of name is Guinevere? Is there a Lancelot here?" Dean chimed and laughed, forced mirth filling his miserable green eyes. She blinked and reached over, pressing a finger against his nose, smashing it.

"So real this time."

Dean grabbed her hand and patted it. "Hey, it's me. I'm alive, okay. It's a crazy-ass story, but I won't bore you. But we came here to come get you out of this loony bin."

"Bobby sent us," Sam informed somberly.

"He said you've had the quite the summer." Dean chuckled. "Getting arrested, jail, escaping, telling him you're going off for a vacation but end up taking a hunt in this place. You salt and burn the remains but come back here."

"Why?" asked Sam. "You're not crazy."

Realizing that, indeed, Sam and Dean were sitting across from her, Hermione messaged her stinging eyes and said, "You wouldn't understand, but I needed time. Time to think. I've hunted for years, and I'm just…tired. I'm just tired. But I won't be here forever. I'll probably leave after the New Year. I want to go back to England."

"No, no. We need you here," Dean said. "Do you have any idea what's going on outside?"

"It's snowing."

"He means hunting-wise. It's bad out there," Sam said and Hermione frowned at him and pressed her eyelids closed and opened them again, squinting.

"You look different," she said.

"So do you." He almost smiled.

"They must be feeding you good here," commented Dean. "They wouldn't happen to have burgers, would they?"

"It's the drugs." Stoned out of her mind, but she was aware that she was carrying two extra stones since the last time she saw them.

"What they got you on?" Dean snapped his fingers in front of her face twice. "Valium, Thorazine, Prozac."

"Among others. What did you say about _out there_? What's going on?"

"Lilith is still a bitch, and seals are breaking," he said.

"When we say seals, we're talking about the 666 seals. If sixty-six of them break, the devil is let loose," Sam explained.

"The world becomes his playground," Dean added.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut, and she inhaled sharply. She slowly reopened her eyes and said, "Dean, there is no such thing as the devil."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off with a, "There are angels, too. They're dicks."

"Junkless ones," his brother muttered and folded his arms. "Like Ken dolls."

"So we're going to get you out of here and back to Bobby's. Get you off those drugs, and get you back in shape."

Sam pulled out a folder from inside his jacket. "I stole your file from the psychiatrist's office. Look, Dean." He showed Dean something on the file. "It correlates with one of the seals breaking."

"Mmm." Dean slightly nodded and leaned forward and dropped his voice. "You may have thought you were losing your mind when certain people—dead people from your past—showed up all in one place trying to kill you. Truth is, it was one of the seals. Hunters all over were-"

"Stop." Hermione cupped her forehead. "You've gone off the plot, both of you. When do we leave?"

* * *

Twenty minutes out of Portland, Sam turned off Dean's radio and cleared his throat. "You said you wanted to go back to England. What happened?"

Hermione, with her forehead resting against the chilled glass of the backseat window of the Impala, ignored the question. She was not going to tell the Winchesters that during her vacation in New Jersey, she had a breakdown, realizing that she was never going to get home. To hell with what the Trickster said about there being others like her out there because she was stuck here for the rest of her pathetic life. Fourteen years of being in this bloody awful place. Fourteen years wasted. Why couldn't she have dutifully accepted that this new world was her life when she was sixteen and scared out of her mind? Life could've been so much simpler. She could've been happy again. There were opportunities.

And then she took that hunt at the psychiatric hospital. She got rid of the problem, but then her own surfaced. Faces she couldn't save sprung up and wanted revenge. Even worse, _his_ face—_his_ spirit—came to kill her. She bolted out of the abandoned house she'd been squatting in and went back to the hospital, checking herself in by being honest. Doctor Lynn was more than eager to admit a patient who claimed to be seeing dead people.

"Yeah, what happened?" Dean encouraged.

Shaking her head against the fogged glass, Hermione mumbled unintelligibly and shifted to an upright position and noticed something appear in the corner of her eye. She turned her head and screeched when seeing a dark haired man in a tan trench coat and slightly rumpled suit sharing the backseat with her. Immediately after, the sound of an electrical shortage echoed throughout the swerving car. Dean pulled over, shouting out curses while Sam waved at the smoke coming from the radio.

"Dammit, Cass!" Dean cursed and hit the steering wheel. "Your angel mojo totally murdered my tape player. How am I going to drown out Sam's voice on the way to Bobby's when I got no Metallica?"

Sam shifted in his seat and turned around to face Hermione. She was twisted up in her seatbelt and her back was pressed against the door with her arms by her head, chest heaving underneath the stolen hospital robe. "You okay?"

"No."

"This is Cass. He's a-"

"I'm an angel of the Lord," the dark haired man said in a disturbingly low, gravelly voice. Hermione frowned at tilted her head to the side and he did the same. His hair reminded her of someone she knew long ago, but his eyes were very blue. And even through her weakened, dulled magical senses, she felt the power radiating off him. If he, indeed, was an angel, he was unlike anything she ever pictured. Where were his wings? Under that creepy, child-molester trench coat?

"Hello," Hermione squeaked. So there was opposition in all things? If there were demons, angels existed. If there was a devil, God was real. She suddenly felt very small, very frightened, and extremely humbled. "I'm Herm-"

"I know who you are."

She did _not _like the way he said that. Instinctively, she scooted her fingers to the lock-nut of the seatbelt while the other found its place on the door handle. "You do?" she asked carefully.

"I know _what_ you are," he said vehemently and Hermione bolted out of the backseat and ran. Cold, snowy air assaulted her cheeks and seeped through the thin material of her clothing. She only ran twenty yards or so before risking to Apparate. The drugs were still in her system and lowered her magical abilities, but if she thought really hard then maybe…

She landed on her back on a semi-soft, extremely cold surface and heard the sound of waves crashing into seashore. Stiffly, she rolled onto her stomach and saw bits of snow and sand before vomiting. Once the nausea subsided, she got on her hands and knees and looked up and saw that she was on Atlantic City Beach.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I know it's been a few weeks, and I apologize for the delay. I just moved me and my load into a new place, and I'm facing the hardship of having no internet so...here's chapter six. Hope you enjoy.

Also, I know some of my readers may be getting impatient because Draco hasn't surfaced his cute face yet. Relax. He'll be coming around. I can't just plop him in front of Hermione when she's got other things going on. Let's be honest. If I did, she'd probably shoot him. :)

I'm sorry for any errors. I'll probably come back and tidy it up some more. Until then...Chapter 6! R&amp;R!

* * *

Teeth chattering, Hermione pressed her forehead against the apartment door and tried to absorb the warmth of the hallway. She had to walk two miles in the freezing cold to get here, and when she arrived to the building, strange looks from people in the lobby greeted her. Thankfully, everyone stared instead of asking questions of why a loony person in a robe and soft pants came waltzing inside. She then took the stairs and came to her flat. One would say it was her home-base. New Jersey was the place she came to when needing rest and extra money in her pocket. This apartment was always equipped and ready to house her when needed. Unfortunately, she did not have the keys on her.

She cupped the doorknob and willed it to unlock. After hearing the clicks, she walked into the unlit flat and turned on the light. For a moment, she feared the bulb shining above her was about to burst but it merely brightened, dimmed, and brightened again.

The first thing she did was go into her office and boot up the laptop and then dug through her bedroom closet and pulled out a black case with two IV bags. She took one and hooked it on the transportable rack she ordered online a couple of years ago. Shedding her robe, she rubbed the crease of her elbow with a sanitation cloth before wrapping the stretchy black strap around bicep and making a fist. Without hesitation, she stuck the needle of the IV into the awaiting vain and taped it to her arm. She wheeled the IV rack to her office and sat down at her desk.

Ironically, there was more information on angels than she imagined but couldn't find anything to keep them away. As a witch and a person comfortable with history, she was aware that mainstream religion despised witchcraft. It was probably why that Cass seemed so _friendly_ towards her.

An hour into researching, Hermione tore her focus away from the computer screen and dug through her drawer and pulled out a cellphone and connected it to a charger. Almost instantly, the device was hit with an avalanche of text messages and voicemails. Scrolling through them, she saw that a quarter of them were from Bobby, Dean, and Sam. The rest were from Jo and Ellen, most of them received before October.

Hermione dialed Ellen's number and winced when hearing, _"You better have a hell of an excuse, young lady!"_

"How's everything?"

"_Oh, no you don't! Where are you?!"_

"I'm in New Jersey. I just got baaaa…" Shit!

"_Back from where?"_

"Ellen."

"_No. I get word you got arrested, escaped jail, and took off God knows where."_

"I was hunting."

"_The hell you were. Tell me where you are in New Jersey. I'm coming."_

"No." Hermione pulled out a small mirror from the drawer and studied her reflection. "You don't want to see me like this."

"_Like what?"_

"I've just…" Hermione set down the mirror, "had a terrible year. How's…How's Joanna?"

"_Look,"_ the woman grumbled_, "you're not the only one who's had it tough. Demon activity has become a main priority. Hunters are dying left and right. Good people. For a while there, Jo wouldn't get out of bed. Now she's doing all right. Rufus, an old friend of Bobby's, is training her. They're up in Montana someplace."_

Hermione softly exhaled. "Ellen?"

"_Hmm?"_

"I'm going back home."

"_What? Why?"_

"I've thought about it for a while now. It's just…I think there may be something there that I need to find."

Begrudgingly, Ellen replied, _"And if you do? You'll stay there?"_

"I hope not. Give me Joanna my best, would you?" Hermione hung up and pulled out the battery, destroyed the SIM card, and disabled the GPS.

When the IV emptied, Hermione replaced it with the second bag, shivering when the cool liquid filled her veins. The drug-filled haze was gone, and she could think clearly. It was like having clear vision after months of a greasy film wrapped over her eyes.

She dove back into researching angels but came up with nothing to ward them off. If the circumstances were different, she'd call Bobby. It was risky, though. If the angel told Dean and Sam what she was they probably told Bobby. He wouldn't help her now. He'd most likely feel betrayed by her and hate her for being a witch and a liar.

She was on her own completely now.

Closing out of the research, she went to work creating a new identity. Guinevere Evans was being retired.

* * *

**Mid December 2008 **

Hermione jogged along the shoreline of Atlantic City Beach. Having put away her earphones, she heard the soothing sound of icy waves crashing into the shore. She was a bit sweaty underneath her winter running clothes. Three weeks ago, her workout clothes and pajamas were the only things in her flat that fit her. With the morning cocktails gone and the fattening cafeteria food, Hermione was down a stone. She had another to go before getting back to her normal size. Granola, yogurt, fish, fruits, and vegetables haunted her.

Breathing in the crisp, salty air, Hermione licked her lips at the thought of cheating and sneaking into that bakery on her street and snatching a freshly baked blueberry muffin with a cup of hot chocolate. She scrunched her face at the thought and increased her speed, feeling the unpleasant burn of her leg muscles and a painful digging in her side. She should sprint more often, anyway. It's not like she's going to _jog_ for her life if something or someone is chasing after her.

Speaking of…

The sound of running feet coming up behind her touched her ears. She turned her head and saw a guidette dressed in black running gear and smiled politely. Her hair was a richly dark brown and long, thrown back in to a no-nonsense ponytail. Her skin was clear and lightly bronzed. Not like the other orange girls running around these parts of the city. The woman smirked back and said, "Hermione, right?"

Digging her heals into the sand, Hermione frowned. "Do I know you?" she asked breathlessly.

"I'm a friend of Sam's."

"Are you?" She stole a step back, feeling the dark energy rolling of the young woman. "I sincerely doubt that. _Christo_."

The woman's eyes flashed black, and Hermione threw a punch. The demon blocked it and then grabbed her arm and twisted behind her back. Hermione stomped her foot on the demon's and was pushed away. She whipped around and was solidly pushed in the chest, her breath shooting out of her. She lost her footing and fell onto the icy cold sand.

"I'm embarrassed how easy that was," said the demon.

"Me too," Hermione groaned. The back of her head hit something hard and cracked it. The demon knelt down and slithered her hand behind Hermione's injured head and yanked on something, pulling out a leaking bottle of tequila with bits of sand plastered to it. She tossed it aside and unzipped her fanny pack.

"I have something for you from Sam. Like I said, I'm a _friend_ of his. He asked me to track you down and give you this." She wrenched Hermione's palm to open and shoved a hex bag into it.

"If you think I'm keeping that, then you're nine kinds of stupid." She let it fall to the sand and struggled to get the demon off of her. God, her head killed.

"Keep it. Don't keep it. I don't give a rat's ass, but Sam asked for a favor, and I complied. He's worried about you…whoever you are and asked me to deliver my special extra crunchy bag to keep you off the grid to demons _and_ angels."

Hermione managed to free her right leg and curl it against her chest before knocking over the demon with it. The woman rolled into an elegant summersault and crouched, preparing for a fight. "Sam would never align himself with a demon," she said while struggling to get to her feet and wondered how she was going to fight this thing, aside from pummeling it into the beach. All of her hunting gear was two miles away, and she desperately needed a pain killer. She wondered if there was a way to use her magic against her. She'd never used her magic on the supernatural before, and it frightened her too much to try. She opted for a hunched over position with her arms slightly extended away from her body, telling the demon she would listen but was ready to fight if necessary.

"I'm not like other demons. He trusts me. We share the same goal. Lilith's head on a platter."

"I'm just supposed to believe the Winchesters sent a demon to help me."

"No. Just Sam. He said you got on the angels' bad side or something and asked me for help. Let me say, you're a hard one to pin down. New Jersey of all places. Anyway, I have better places to be than here. Take the hex bag or don't. Burn it, for all I care. But when the angels come knocking on your door ready to smite you, don't blame anyone but yourself."

Hermione blinked and she was gone. The hex bag was still by her feet. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she bent down and picked it up, pressing the cloth under her nose and inhaling. Coughing, she mumbled, "Damn. That's good stuff."

* * *

Hermione walked into her office and set her keys down and placed the small paper sack with her muffin on the desk. She shoved the hex bag into one of the top drawers and went into the kitchen to start a pot of tea. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she nonchalantly opened the drawer in front of her and pulled out her 9mm and whipped around and pointed at Sam who had knife improperly held between his fingers. Snorting, she lowered her gun. "For Gods' sake, Sam, at least pretend you want to kill me."

"I had to be prepared."

She raised her brows. "With a knife?" The humor deadened. "A demon found me this morning at the beach. Know anything about that?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and surprisingly informed, "She's a friend. She knows how to make those hex bags. It's okay. She won't be able to find you again if you keep it."

Hermione shook her head. "This is all kinds of wrong."

"She wants Lilith dead. I can't afford to be picky on who my allies are. _What_ my allies are," he defended, his eyes narrowing at the last part.

"I'm a _what_ now?" Hermione asked somberly and folded her arms. "That angel. What did he tell you?"

"Castiel? Aside that you are a witch, not much. He told Dean and me that you are dangerous and…"

"And? Do you think I'm dangerous?"

"He said you don't belong here," Sam said softly, sympathy in his eyes.

"He's right," she admitted and turned away from him. "Sam, they may think I'm dangerous, but he's done nothing to stop me from being here and could've found me the moment I disappeared in front you, but he didn't. What does that tell you?"

"I...don't know," he whispered.

"Me neither," she said and changed the subject. "I've listened to the news and did research on the seals you talked about. The tragic incidents and catastrophes. Those are seals, I'm assuming."

He nodded.

"Do you have any leads?"

"Aside from Ruby? No."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione hissed, "The demon, I presume. Yes, trust her. Bet it's easy with that arse of hers. Or whosever she decided to invade."

"For one," Sam said, his voice raising a few octaves, "the body's empty. Another thing, the body she chose has no effect on me."

"You are terrible liar. God, Sam. Have a little pride in yourself! I _know_ it's not hard for you to find a companion for the night." She reached behind her head and gingerly touched the goose egg formation below her bun. Speaking of that satanic tart...ouch!

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"Fine. I just need…" Hermione pointed to her fridge and walked the few steps to open the freezer, pulling out the ice tray.

"Ruby hurt you."

She put the tray next to the microwave and pulled out dishrag from the drawer beneath it. "She was a demon, and I'm rusty. There was a bottle of tequila on the beach, and I fell on it. I'll be fine," she explained and grabbed a handful of ice cubes and put them in the center of the cloth. Gathering the edges, she put the makeshift ice pack on the tender, swollen bump and sat down at her small kitchen table. Sam joined her and he reached one long arm around and covered her hand with his massive one. By doing this brought their faces a good six inches away from each other. The smell of lightly creamed coffee and aftershave wafted towards her nostrils. She inhaled and sighed. "You need to go."

Sam smiled fully at her, flashing his dimples. "Yeah?"

"Before Dean wonders where you are."

"Dean always wonders where I am."

She chose not to comment on that particular piece of insight. "Fine. Before your disgusting girlfriend shows up and hacks me to bits."

Sam went forward and captured her top lip with his mouth and then nipped at the bottom one and breathily divulged, "She'd want to join."

She put a hand on his chest to stop him but it somehow ended up resting on his neck, and he kissed her again. Her hands fell from the icepack, and Sam let it fall to the tile floor, chips scattering everywhere. Her eyes fluttered close as he latched on her bottom lip again, this time nibbling before flicking his tongue underneath the top and then poked the tip of hers. An embarrassing squeaking sound gurgled in her throat, and he laughed throatily, his mouth enveloping the tip of her tongue and suckling it gently.

Dirty boy!

Gasping, she pulled away and felt the heated blush stain her cheeks and neck. She shook her head as Sam took deep breath of his own while he found the zipper of her jacket and pulled down until separating the article completely. "This is a very bad idea," she whispered. "We mustn't. Complications, remember? And…I haven't even showered. I'm sweaty from my run."

For some unexplainable reason, during her rant, she oddly ended up on Sam Winchester's lap, straddling his legs and her jacket was on the floor. His right hand gripped the side of her spandex covered leg, right above her knee and slid it underneath and upwards, cupping her bum and giving him a little more access. Smoothly, he started moving as his other hand grasped her opposite hip, encouraging motion from her.

"This is…Sam!" Hermione laughed from the weird sight they must've made and from the pleasing, tightening feeling in her lower tummy. She pressed their foreheads together. "What are we? Teenagers? Of course, that probably wasn't long ago for you?"

He growled and lifted her, setting her on the table. He hurriedly unlaced her running shoes, taking them off but leaving her Christmas tree socks on. His fingers obscenely groped her legs and found the elastic of her running pants, pulling them off with a few smooth tugs. The next thing to go was her underwear.

She expected him to undo his belt and unzip his trousers but instead sat back down.

Oh!

Ah!

"Uh…" she moaned and pressed the heels of her palms pressing into her eyelids. Her teeth bit down on the collar of her running shirt to muffle her screams. She forgot how talented Sam was!

* * *

_Fifteen Minutes Later_…

The light above the shower flickered, but Hermione barely noticed the dipping light from behind her closed eyelids.

"Are you doing that?" Sam asked breathlessly, his teeth grazing the top of her ear.

She groaned in delight when Sam lifted up her right leg and set her foot on the shower's shelf and continued what he was doing two seconds before. Hot water from the shower cascaded down on them, and she pressed the front of her body against the wall, opening herself more so Sam could get deeper.

"Ah!" she exclaimed and titled her head back and stared up at the light. It flickered again. "I c-can't h-help it!"

Sam laughed. "You broke Dean's radio. Not Cass."

"Yes!"

The light didn't flicker again but steadied for a few seconds and then started to brighten.

"Oh! Oh, Sam! Wait!"

"You're close. I can tell."

"Yes, but…AHHHHH!"

An electrical popping sound echoed over the running water, and the light diminished, the sturdy porcelain covering cracked. Smoke came out through the rim, and there was a black stain on the inside of the cover.

Exhaling loudly, Hermione dropped her leg and fell back against Sam, his arm enveloping her middle. He craned his neck and brushed small kisses on her temple, cheek, and jawline. She yawned and said, "That was way better than last time."

"Tired?"

"Mmhm."

"Want me to wash your hair?"

"Only if you let me cut yours."

His dimples emerged, and she tried to smile dazzlingly in return but settled for brushing her knuckles over his anti-possession tattoo and murmuring, "I think I'm going to miss you when I leave. Even though I hardly ever see you."

His hand found hers and their fingers intertwined. "Stay. Come and spend Christmas at Bobby's with Dean and me. I'll explain everything to them."

"How can you when you don't even know the whole story?"

"Then tell me."

She shook her head and against her better judgment, she allowed Sam to stay after they finished their shower. They both slipped into comfier clothes, her in sweat pants and a t-shirt and him in his boxers and undershirt, before crawling into bed and drifting off to sleep. An hour later, she awoke to find Sam gone and the sheets cold. Blowing a curl out of her face, she mumbled grumpily, "Don't be so surprised, Hermione."

Sam then popped his head in her doorway. "You awake?" He settled beside her on top of the covers and kissed her on the cheek.

"I thought you left."

His lips travelled to her neck. "I got you something."

Knitting her brows, she asked, "You did? What?"

He opened one massive palm in front of her face revealing a small, rectangular black box with a silver ribbon tied into a bow. "Open it."

"Sam," she groaned incredulously and tentatively took the gift and tugged on the ribbon before pulling off the top half of the box. Inside was a thin silver chain with the anti-possession charm.

"Merry Christmas," he said and with nimble fingers, hastily fastened the bracelet around her wrist.

"You…" Hermione scoffed and shook her head. "You got me a Christmas gift? Why?"

His fingers slid beneath her jaw and into her hair and he kissed her before touching their foreheads together. "I like you, I guess."

"Yeah?" Hermione couldn't help but smile. "I couldn't tell."

The backs of his fingers caressed the side of her face and he said, "You're coming back here after you do whatever you think you need to do in England."

"Are you telling me what to do?"

"Give me a chance. Give _us_ a chance."

"Us?" She cupped his face and got her knees and stared into his eyes. "What about your icky girlfriend?"

"She's...not going to be around forever."

"And you think I will? There's too much baggage for us to ever be _us_. With me. With _you_," she said pointedly and softened her voice. "I can _feel_ a change in you, Sam. I felt when you snuck up on me in the kitchen."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I sense it." She brushed a stray piece of hair out of his face. "Whatever ability you have is powerful…but it's not good."

He pulled away from her touch and got off the bed. "I have to go."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Of course."

Sam disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes and came back out in his street clothes. She forced a small smile at him and twisted her wrist. "Thank you for the gift."

He gave her a curt nod and left the room. She covered her face and swore before sprinting after him and putting herself between him and the door. "I will give us a chance if you stop whatever it is that you're doing," she promised.

He put a hand on the door and then hung his head, shaking it. "I can't."

"Then I won't," she said softly and opened the door for him. When he left, she closed it and sank to the floor and wondered if she had made a terrible mistake by letting him leave.


	7. Chapter 7

**January 2009: Downtown London**

The alleyway was dark and dank, save the light shining by the door a ways down. Scanning the area to make sure she was alone, Hermione slowly walked towards the door and paused in front it to shake off the bitter cold before entering Vincent's Villa and was greeted by the smell of sautéed garlic, cheesy sharp roux, grilled meats, and baked bread. The sound of porcelain dishes clinking against hard surfaces assaulted her ears, and she purposefully marched by the chefs and servers, ignoring their glances and found herself in the backroom where a tall, black-haired man stood by a rectangular table with a rectangular case on it. He smirked at her and flipped the latches of the case and opened it before turning it around to show her what was inside.

Hermione's shot him a bemused look and picked up one of the trinkets. Her finger caressed the trigger and she said, "Tranq gun?"

"It's all I could get on such short notice, Granger. Bleedin' call me two hours ago saying you arrived like I ruddy knew you were coming. Gotcha the knives, didn't I?"

Putting the tranq gun down, she gingerly lifted a small, triangular blade and critically assessed the sharpness of the point.

"That little birdie'll look fit around your pretty ankle. Got the lot. Both silver and iron. They'll do well when you're out and about. How was the States, love? You were there longer than you said you'd be."

Hermione put down the blade and picked up the tranq again before sliding it in the back of her jeans. "Very true, Hamilton. I'll take the lot and will be back in three days. You better have my guns."

Hamilton closed the case and walked around the table to put his arm around Hermione. "Have dinner. You'll see our Bolognese is better. Top that with a glass of wine, you'll go to bed a happy girl. You're too skinny. Papa'll throw a fit when he sees America didn't fatten you up."

They went back to the chaotic mess of the kitchen, and he sat her down at the chef's table. A waiter came by and winked at her while pouring some red wine into her awaiting glass. He did the same to Hamilton's and when he left, Hermione asked nonchalantly, "Come across anything out of the ordinary in these past six years? Something I should keep an eye out for?"

"Demon activity has increased. Not terribly. Not like the States but some. No increase in ghosts, ghouls, zombies, and the like. Um…" He shrugged and then snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "You know, there's been an increase in missing cases. Teenage girls, mostly. We find them, Junior and I. But it's too late. We have to…" He dragged a finger across his neck and grimaced. "This whole _vampires have feelings_ shite is really mucking things up for us and giving mums and dads heartache."

The waiter returned with a basket full of hot breadsticks. Hermione smiled in gratitude and then went back to asking Hamilton questions. "Anything else. Anyone showing up on the radar?"

"Aside from your local demon-worshipers?" He shook his head and then stilled, revelation washing over his features. "Now that you mention it...but, Granger…"

Hermione leaned closer. "What?"

"I can't really say it's our jurisdiction."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Hamilton sighed. "London is facing a madman at the moment. A serial killer. The authorities can't catch him, and neither can we."

"It's not your job. What does this have to do-"

"Here's the thing. Junior and I happen to be following a lead a year ago. We thought we were dealing with a nest. Come to find out, it was this lunatic's hideout. From what we could see, it was demon-worship of the worst kind. The git sprung up out of nowhere. He had a cloak on, but I had never seen magic like that."

Hermione sipped at her wine casually. "That sounds like your jurisdiction, Hamilton."

"It's out of my league. That's what it is, Granger. I'm going to need more than I have to put him down."

"I'll put him down." Her dish arrived and Hermione grabbed a fork to dig in. "Get me all you have on him."

"I have nothing. I know where his old hideout. He's gone now."

Hermione shoveled a hot bite of Bolognese into her mouth and nodded. "You're right. It's better."

"Junior would murder me in cold blood if I let you go after this unbelievable sod alone."

"And you think I've partnered up in America? I need a change from the run of the mill ghosts and werewolves and demons. I've been gone for a long time. Let me make it up to you by ridding London of this son of bitch."

"There she is. There's the girl I know who needs to prove to everyone that she's better." His voice dropped into a whisper. "The hideout was in an old abandoned building on Charring Cross Road."

"I know where it is." Hermione covered her mouth, and her stomach churned. This was it! The Trickster was right! "I know where it is. Hamilton, get me those guns."

* * *

The next morning…

Beads of sweat trickled down Hermione's forehead and she pressed it against the frosted glass of her sitting room window and stared out and the frigid morning. The sun was rising and its rays were hitting the partly cloudy sky and reflecting blinding light through her window. Squinting, she lowered her eyes to the slushy streets of London and studied the pedestrians rushing to start their day.

"Where are you?" she whispered, her warm breath fogging the glass. "Who are you?"

The Trickster hinted she was not alone, but a part of her honestly believed she'd return to the States, kicking herself for believing that prat. Not even three hours later after leaving the airport, she'd been given proof by Hamilton that there was merit to the Trickster's words.

She didn't sleep a wink the night before and when she dressed in running shorts and a sports bra for a run on the treadmill, her mind was packed with questions. Who was this man? Did she know him once? Had she heard of him at least? Why was he killing girls? Bloody hell, why was he killing at all?

It peeved Hermione that she'd have to treat this like any other hunt for the most part. As in, she'd have to kill him. If he couldn't help her get back to her world or provide any useful information, she'd be alone again. This time, indefinitely.

Pushing herself away from the view, she padded into the kitchen and opened up the fridge, revealing a few takeout boxes from Vincent's Villa and two slices of tiramisu. Hamilton sent her home with some pizza last night, so she grabbed a delicious cold slice of margarita and eyed the two bottles of wine he'd also given her before grabbing a glass of water.

Once her breakfast was finished, her discarded cell phone buzzed on the treadmill. Seeing it was Junior, she flipped it open and said, "Hello?"

_"Sorry I missed you last night, sweetheart. Was in Surrey taking care of a nasty spirit."_

"We'll see each other soon."

_"How about now?"_

A knock on the door echoed throughout the flat and Hermione chuckled lightly into the phone before hanging up. Peeking through the spyglass, she saw Junior stick his tongue out at her. Rolling her eyes at his childish behavior, she opened the door and was ambushed by a pair of long, muscled arms covered in a brown leather jacket.

"Look at you," he said in that gravelly voice of his, slapping her on the bum before closing the door behind him. "Lookin' fit. Driving those Yanks spare, I imagine. Got any grub. Haven't eaten yet. Just got in."

He let her go and bolted towards the kitchen. "Help yourself to the pizza, but don't you dare touch those cakes." By the time she caught up to him, his arse was on the counter and he was shoveling her tiramisu into his mouth. He moaned as he swallowed. "Mama, I miss you" he hummed sacredly.

"Oh, Junior." Hermione folded her arms and soaked in his presence, wincing at the scratches around his neck and on his face. "You're filthy. You're getting graveyard dirt everywhere."

Junior shrugged. "Sorry. I'll send a cleaner up later. How's the flat, anyway."

"It's good. Exactly how I remembered it." She pointed in the direction of the sitting room. "New telly, though."

"Plasma. Great for rugby games. Football game tonight. I should come over after your hunt."

"My hunt?" Hermione inquired slowly. "I'm not hunting today. Your brother gave me a tranq and a few blades. I can't do much with those."

Junior swallowed the last bite of his cake and pressed a fist to his mouth, burping, before sliding his fingers into the inner part of his jacket and pulling out a folder. "Our good, young gents at Oxford are currently suffering a minor problem." He burped again and continued. "There appears to be a succubus on the loose. Three lads are dead. Two of the victims are nineteen and the other is twenty-one."

Taking the folder from him, she flipped it open and scanned the newspaper clippings and the photographs of the young men. "Three deaths aren't minor," she said. "Nor is a succubus. These all happened within the last three weeks. Why hasn't this been taken care of yet?"

"Thought the first death was alcohol poisoning. Didn't think much of it. Second one, I knew. Papa doesn't trust the boys on this one, though. We've tried scrounging up Alexia, but she's tied up with Patrick in Dublin helping the locals deal with a pack of banshees. Shite, but all the straight girly hunters abandon ship and went where it's dirtier. Some of them are in the States, Canada, Mexico. Tania went to Moscow and Francine is in Kyoto, last I heard."

"I get it." Hermione closed the file and wiggled it. "I am apparently hunting today."

"You'll off that bitch in no time. Practically child's play."

* * *

Knuckles aching from the blows given to the succubus' face, Hermione hurriedly dodged the things claws by leaning backwards and unsheathing a sturdy splinter of holy wood, twirling around and slamming the sharpened tip into its heart. The thing that looked like a comely, twenty year old woman howled and fell to the floor of the young Daniel Davidson's room. Said Mister Davidson was unconscious and completely naked on his twin bed. Next to him was the succubus' twin sister, and she was stirring.

Catching her breath, Hermione yanked the holy wood out of the succubus' heart and watched as dark maroon smoke poured out of the wound and then dissipated with a shrieking howl. Not wasting anymore time, she then threw herself on top of the other creature. Ten minutes ago, she discovered there were two monsters instead of one and that these twins shared everything to looks, clothes, and victims.

The crimson-stained holy wood went towards the thing's heart, but the succubus pushed her off and onto the floor on the other side of the bed. Hermione landed gracelessly, her head slamming into the window ledge. Ignoring the sharp throb exploding throughout her skull, she leapt to her feet and faced the monster. Tightening her grip on the stake, she clenched her teeth and took a swipe at the succubus. It jumped back and then forward, gripping Hermione's shoulders and sending them both through the window, breaking the glass. For about three seconds, Hermione felt cold wind nip at the back of her neck and ears before, her body slammed into an untouched, fresh layer of snow. The thing on top of her hissed in pain and fell to the side, the holy wood sticking out of its side.

Hermione stared up at the night sky, her body screaming in agony. It took her a few seconds, but she was able to suppress the pain and use her abdominal muscles to sit up, allowing only one small whimper of protest.

They were outside of one the dormitory buildings, and pop music could be heard from one of the upper levels. Hermione cursed when one of the high story windows opened and a young woman popped her head out. She held a plastic cup in her hand and exclaimed, "Oh, my God! Are you two all right? Her face disappeared and Hermione heard, "I think two girls fell out of a bloody window, Derek!"

Like a blur, the succubus pulled out the stake from her abdomen and rolled over onto all fours, looking much like a feral animal with wild, blonde curly hair framing an angular face. It lunged and Hermione hastily climbed to her feet and delivered a kick to the thing's injured side. It howled in pain and struggled to stand, the wood with its sister's blood in a tight grip. The monster attempted to stab her with it with a clean, jerking plunge but Hermione grabbed its wrist and turned it outward until hearing a crack. The stake dropped and the succubus punched Hermione in the jaw which only stung a little. She was able to deliver a number of small blows to the monster's stomach before unsheathing a small blade from her belt and slitting its throat. As the thing bled out, Hermione gingerly bent over and picked up the holy wood, forcing it into the succubus' chest.

* * *

"You should've told me it was your first hunt in over five months," Junior scolded and sat next to Hermione on the couch, handing her a chilled bottle of Smirnoff. They'd missed the game but a late night talk show was on. "How are you feeling?"

She pulled the bloodied tissue away from her nose and fingered her upper lip. "I think it stopped. I'm fine. Blast. She didn't even hit my nose."

"Well, that's not a good sign," he commented. "You're rusty. A silly, little thing like a twin shouldn't have thrown you off your game, love."

"I know." She arched her back and tilted her chin to the ceiling, a series of pops rolling down her spine.

"Ready for the drugs?"

"Mmhm"

He took the awaiting pill bottle off the coffee table and popped the lid, giving her one. She tossed it back with some water but went back to sipping her vodka.

"Hamilton told me you're jonesing for that devil-worshipping lunatic. The one killing the virgins. You aren't ready."

"I can take him."

"You sure about that? He's quick. I'm not even sure if he's bloody human."

Hermione rested her elbows on her knees and shook her head and sighed, more at herself than Junior. He was right. The lunatic wasn't human, at least not by this world's standards. Neither was she because she hid her abilities well. As in, she hardly ever used them. Since the Trickster strengthened her magic, she'd hardly used it.

Maybe that's why all electronics short-circuited around her when she got frightened or too excited. Her body took advantage of the rise in adrenalin and exerted the energy in order to maintain homeostasis. Disapparating and unlocking doors wasn't enough to blow off the steam, so-to-speak.

She stared at her fingertips and tried to recall all the spells she learned in school. The ones she could, she imagined the magic shooting from her hands and creating a number of possibilities. She was a witch and hunting like a hunter on this case was not going to suffice.

No, she wasn't worried about facing this murderous git at all. Since he was a wizard, he certainly could die like one.

_Avada Kadavera_, she mused.

"Look," she started and licked her lips. "It's not like I'll see him tomorrow on the tube. I imagine it will take a little while to track him down."

"Just be careful. If it gets too thick, back out. Promise me."

"I promise," she lied.

Junior stayed in the spare bedroom that night, setting the alarm on his phone for every two hours to kindly wake her concussed self. When the morning came, he left for home and she forewent a run on the treadmill. Instead, she dove into her closet and pulled out the small dresser. Behind it was a false section of wall which she maneuvered to the side, revealing a medium-sized, dusty trunk. She pulled it out and gripped the golden lock tightly in her hand.

"_Alohamora_," she whispered, the lock clicking out of place. She opened the trunk and saw a film of dust blanketed on the objects. "_Scourgify."_

Hermione pulled out a stubby, thick candle, a small bag of crushed raven bones, and an even smaller bag of human ash. She closed the trunk and wandered back into the living room where a map of London resided on the coffee table. She opened the bag of bones and ash, sprinkling them on top of the map before placing the candle against her chin and saying, "_Incendio_."

The wick ignited and she started to recite the location spell. She had heard of it years ago from one of her first witch hunts but never used it. As she told herself repeatedly, most-if not all-the magic in this dimension was dark. Just this once, though, she'd allow unknown forces to take control and direct her where she needed to go. She'd allow herself this one sin.

Hermione brought the flame to the edge of the map and in milliseconds, the entire paper was aflame. "Out!" she exclaimed and the fire disappeared, leaving behind a perfectly round circle of untouched map. Soho.

**That Afternoon**

"I should've known," Hermione said as she stood outside of Bewitched and Bewiccan, staring at the sign in aghast. Scoffing, she knew the place was most likely a home to the owner and a place of business. It was a refurbished, somewhat large cottage next to a dentist office and a bed and breakfast.

She gripped the gate of the picket fence and opened it, walking up the slick, brick walkway. She paused when seeing a small garden next to a birdbath with frozen water inside the bowl. Chiltern gentians with luscious, green stems poked out of the thick layer of snow, and Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, that's perfectly normal," she mumbled and continued up the pathway and tentatively opened the door. A bell jingling as she entered into the heated shop. The door closed behind her, and she walked further into the main area of the cottage, examining a glass shelf nearby. A series of vials, all with different colors, stood in rows. She picked up a pink one and uncapped it, taking a sniff.

It smelt like…

It smelt like…

"I see you found the Love Potion," a deep, masculine voice said from behind her. She whirled around and saw a handsome man about early forties (perhaps early fifties even) with salt and pepper curly hair closely chopped around his ears. He had a five o' clock shadow and the brownest eyes she'd ever seen. His teeth were immaculately straight and white, and he wore a snug, black knitted sweater with cuffs folded partly up his forearms and a pair of khakis.

He looked oddly familiar but she couldn't place him for the life of her.

"It's a popular one after Christmas," he added and smiled roguishly. "Though I have a difficult time picturing you in need of such a thing, miss. A lovely young woman like yourself should have no trouble in finding a lad."

She set the vial back down carefully, "I don't. I was just looking. I like pink."

"And you'd look lovely in such a color. Let me show you something." He beckoned her with his fingers, and she followed him to a jewelry case filled with necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and brooches. After unlocking it with a key he had on his wrist, he pulled out a white gold bangle bracelet with pink stones imbedded into it.

"It's…" Ick! "Pretty."

She offered her wrist and he was about to slip it on when he saw Sam's bracelet. He fingered the anti-possession charm before placing the bangle right next to it. "I get your kind in here every once in a while. _Hunter_s. I run an honest business, but what my customers do with their purchases have nothing to do with me."

Hermione touched the bangle while her eyes narrowed on his left forearm. The rolled up cuff of his sweater partially exposed a black, serpentine-like figure. She swallowed thickly and grabbed his hand. "I believe you. I'm not here to question your business ethics. It's not my place."

He stared befuddled-like at her before relaxing. "Thank you."

"I'm just here for a couple of supplies is all."

"What do you need?"

"Crushed raven bones."

"I think I have that."

"A candle."

"Take your pick."

"And human ash."

The man chuckled nervously and raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure about that last bit, miss. I didn't think you hunters messed around with that."

"Do you or do you not have human ash?"

Hesitantly, he backed away from the counter. "I'll see what I have in the back." A minute later, he returned with a palm sized urn, a small bag of raven bones, and a long stem candle. "I don't usually carry this in large amounts. I try to keep my customers on the straight and narrow if you know what I mean."

"Yes."

"Right. Well, let me just ring you up. Oh, the bracelet…"

"I want it."

He laughed nervously again and nodded. "And so you shall have it."

They went to the checkout counter and as he was ringing her up at the till, he cleared his throat and asked, "So…you're looking for someone?"

"No."

"The ingredients are common for location spells. I only assumed…" He put her things in a pink paper bag and handed it to her.

"I'm merely replacing them," she replied and set the bag down by her feet and quickly grabbed his wrist and pinned it against the counter and then yanked the tranq gun from her pocket and pointed it at his face. To the untrained eye, it looked like her precious 9mm she had to leave in the States. "Because I already found who I'm looking for."

He tried to get his arm back but she dug her nails into his skin, drawing blood. He hissed in pain and barked, "I don't practice magic, all right?! I only bleedin sell it!"

She pressed the tip of the tranq gun under his nose, and he stopped squirming, his dark eyes widening in fear. She then lowered the weapon and brought the muzzle down to his trapped arm, and she brushed it against the halfway-exposed tattoo on his skin. He bristled and she asked quietly, "What did they call you before you came here?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Do you want to know what they called me?"

"Let me go and get the hell off my property!"

"Mudblood."

The man's face went blank before his eyes slit and his mouth morphed into a feral snarl, a flicker of recognition drifted across his features. "_You_," he hissed vehemently and then cracked a wicked smirk. "They called me Lestrange. Rabastan Lestrange."

In the lifetime she hunted, Hermione had faced more terrifying things than this man, yet she was trembling in her boots. This man. This monster was the brother-in-law of the woman who hexed her through the veil. The gun trained on him began to shake, and he laughed. "Has the filth lost all her courage?"

"No!" she growled and flicked the safety off. "How did you get here?"

"Same way you did," he purred. "The veil."

"How do I get back?"

"Get back?" His laugh turned maniacal. "This is all just _perfect_. I was going get someone else, but you come in all ready for the taking."

"What are you talk-"

Rabastan lifted his free hand from underneath the counter, his palm full of white dust and blew on it. Within a second, the cloud hit Hermione and her body slackened and she fell on the floor, her vision going black. The last thing going through her mind was 'Sandman's Sand.'

* * *

A/N: :) Sorry for any errors!

Thank you readers, reviewers, followers, and those who put this fic on their favorite list.

So sorry Draco didn't show up in this chapter, but how many of you thought he would? It's okay. No judgment. I did kind of make my readers believe it was just going to be Draco. R&amp;R! Tell me your thoughts and questions.


	8. Chapter 8

A buzzing noise stirred Hermione awake, and she became instantly aware of how cold she was and shivered. She opened her eyes and saw a ceiling with bulb-less lanterns and realized that she was on a cement floor in an abandoned building. Her leather jacket was gone, and her wrists were manacled down. The left sleeve of her thin, black polo was bunched up around the crease of her elbow, and she could barely make out the bleeding, letters etched on her stinging skin.

MUDBLOOD

Blinding hatred coursed through her veins, making her body tremble. She was going to rip into Lestrange and break every bone in his body and relish every snapping sound they made!

The buzzing returned and was coming from her right, and she noticed a man laying down beside her. His wrists were manacled as well, and he was unconscious. Her heart leapt to her throat when recognizing his crooked nose. But instead of billowing black robes, he wore a smart black and grey tweed suit with black polished loafers. Instead of greasy, longish hair, it was cut and groomed and clean.

"Snape," she whispered hoarsely. He didn't stir but the buzzing was coming from him and sounded like a cell phone going off in his inner coat pocket.

Voices echoed off the walls, and Hermione tried to listen but could only distinguish a man's voice. American, nasally, melodic, and gravelly. Much like a wheeze. She swallowed and tried to calm down by studying her surroundings as best as she could. While sweeping her vision from left to right, she recognized where she was. The abandoned building on Charring Cross Road. The killer's previous hideout and the place she used to visit all the time after passing through the veil, hoping and wishing every time that she'd find her way home.

"Ah, Snow White awakens," the man from afar rumbled. He was tall and had a gaunt face, a beard, and a buzz cut. He walked towards her, stopping by her feet to show her the, long gleaming knife in his hand. "Your skin is superb," he purred. "I've carved up people for millennia after millennia, and your meat is by far the most enticing. It made such a delicious sound when Rabastan sliced into you."

"Get the hell away from me," she hissed.

"How rude of me. I have yet to introduce myself. I'm Alastair." The irises and pupils of his eyes disappeared, leaving behind blank, white orbs.

A demon with white eyes, she'd never encountered one or ever even heard of one. He laughed and waggled the knife at her. "I'm guessing Dean never mentioned me, the petulant child." Hermione froze at the mention of Dean's name and glared. "You see, I was his mentor down in Hell and, oh, you should've seen him, Hermione. He. Was. Glorious. Not like the sniveling, pitiful fool he is now."

"Mentor?" Hermione didn't want know what that meant and set fire to what her imagination wanted to conjure. "What's going on?"

"Your friend Rabastan sold you out."

A muffled scream entered the room, and Hermione saw two men drag in a gagged and bound Rabastan Lestrange. One of the two men removed the his gag and shouted, "This was not part of the deal! I give you them, and you restore my full power!"

"Mmmm." Alistair nodded in faux consideration before whirling around and plunging the knife into the man's throat. A juicy, disgruntled noise echoed off the walls as he gurgled for life, blood spilling freely down the front of his shirt. When Lestrange sagged, Alistair removed the knife and flicked the blade, droplets soundly hitting the concrete, and then pointed it at Hermione. "I think I'll slice you from womb to throat, how about that?"

"Keep it simple." From behind Alistair, a pretty girl about fourteen in a school uniform and long blonde hair appeared. "I want her."

"She's a little old for you," Alistair replied.

The girl's eyes turned white, and she licked her lips obscenely and pinned Hermione with a knowing smile. "Sam will love me in you."

Hermione growled vehemently."Lilith!"

Lilith walked by Alistair and crouched down to crawl over Hermione, blonde hair tickling the brunette's face. Hermione tilted her head and sputtered to get the tresses out of her mouth, yet Lilith lowered her face and touched her lips to her ear. "I know all about the deliciously naughty things you do with our boy Sammy. I've wanted to take you out for drive a long, long time." Lilith sat up and straddled Hermione, and she pulled out the hex bag Ruby gave Hermione from her blazer pocket. "But this kept me from you. Found it in your jacket."

"You can't possess me!"

Lilith's skinny fingers crept underneath the left manacle holding Hermione in place and pulled on the bracelet Sam gave her, breaking it. She waved the jewelry and tossed it aside. "When I bleed the life from you, no soul will keep me from your meat."

"My body will reject you." It wasn't her soul that kept demons from possessing her. It was her body, her blood, her magic.

Lilith gripped the hex bag tight and licked her teeth. "We'll see." The canvas burst into flames, the fire lapping at the demon's fingers and blistering the skin. She showed no sign of pain. "Start the ritual. My master is waiting." She got to her feet and left the room.

A vicious wave of nausea consumed Hermione. Shit! Lilith was talking about a seal! The building on Charring Cross Road must be one. And the blood of her and Snape…

"Snape," she hissed. "Wake up! Wake up now!"

Movement was seen from behind his closed eyelids, but they didn't open. Alistair began reciting a spell in a forgotten language, slowly advancing on her. When he got to her, she concentrated on the manacles holding her and broke them. His chanting paused and he purred, "Fascinating." He picked her up by her hair and held the point of his blade between her breasts, puncturing a small hole in her sweater and scraping her bra. Her eyes landed on the burnt up hex bag she'd been hiding on her person since leaving the States. She cast her vision to the ceiling and shouted the first thing that came to mind, "Castiel!"

Alistair stopped his chanting and dropped her gracelessly back on the floor and roared, "No!"

The front door to the building broke open and the dark-haired man in the same trench coat she remembered from Dean's car marched in with a plump, dark-skinned man in a suit. They didn't even spare her a glance but quickly advanced on Alistair who disappeared into thin air. She rolled onto her stomach and got on all fours before climbing to her feet to face the angels. Castiel and his hypnotizing gaze zeroed in on her.

"We need to destroy them, Castiel," the dark-skinned man said.

Hermione took a step back. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Clearly troubled, Castiel looked away from her. "You don't belong here. How you even got here..."

"Then send me back."

"Kill her," the other angel ordered.

"Send me back!"

"It would be unwise." Castiel pinned her with an exasperated expression.

"So killing me is a better option?"

"Sending you back would disrupt the natural order of your world. _You _already died. If I were to return you to your dimension, it could cost the lives of dozens of people. _Your_ kind."

A solid, heavy ball settled in Hermione's stomach, and she stared at the filthy floor. "You're lying," she accused." I don't belong here. Like you said. My family is there. My mum and dad, please. I want to see them. I beg of you, please."

"Castiel!" barked the other angel and he regarded him.

"Leave us. I'll take care of this."

The other angel tossed him a exasperated glare before disappearing, the sound of flapping wings hitting Hermione's ears. "You must forgive Uriel. He can be…"

"A prick." Hermione folded her arms, shivering. "Are you going to kill me now?"

"You calling for me stopped a seal from breaking. This is a victory, and I thank you. But your kinds of peculiarities have no place in this dimension and could cause a domino effect of chaos, especially since your power is stronger than it should be. The fact you require no device to channel your magic through troubles me."

"Put me in my world and it won't matter."

Castiel stared at her morbidly. "You must understand why you can't go home."

"And I can't stay."

Hesitantly, he replied, "You've dedicated your life in doing God's work. That does not go unnoticed."

"I wouldn't exactly call _hunting_ doing God's work."

He continued on like he hadn't heard her. "You've saved many and sacrificed much in helping innocents. Though you are a potential threat, I will not kill you but ask you give me no reason to. Detract from the path of righteousness, and I will eliminate you _and_ the others who hide themselves."

"It's…" Hermione frowned and nudged her head at Snape. "It's just me and him now."

Castiel opened and then closed his mouth before giving a downward tilt of his chin and disappearing. Like Uriel, he left behind the sound of flapping wings.

Hermione sunk to her knees and clasped her hands together, settling them on her legs. On the outside, she appeared to be praying but on the inside, she was trying to accept for the last time she wasn't returning home. The Trickster never told her the reason he wouldn't take her back but Castiel had, and it horribly made sense.

She hugged herself and the image of her mum and dad surfaced in her mind before she gingerly got to her feet and looked down upon Snape. He was still unconscious and she contemplated shaking him awake when deciding against it. She placed a palm on his chest and a white light poured from her fingers. A Tracking Charm should suffice, not wanting to reveal herself quite yet and definitely not wanting a repeat of what happened with Lestrange. She was going to be careful this time.

Hermione found the bracelet Sam gave her, examining it's broken clasp with a frown and then shoved it into her pocket. She'd fix it later.

* * *

**Three Days Later…**

Hermione walked the University of Westminster around midmorning, travelling the chilly grounds of the campus where it thrived with life as students trekked across snow to catch their classes. She had waited three days to summon the courage of pursuing Snape and this college was where her magic lead her. Why that man was here, she had no idea but was curious to find out.

The magic pulled towards the direction of Cavendish, and she instantly disappeared into a throng of students. She shuffled along with them into a building and into a theater-shaped classroom and walked up the steps to find a seat. She scanned the area, searching for Snape's face and saw no one resembling him, so she sat down towards the back and in the middle. Within thirty seconds, two boys sat down on each side of her and hastily pulled out notebooks and textbooks.

"Did you read the chapter?" the one on her right asked. He had dirty blond hair and glasses but didn't bother glancing at her because he was too busy whipping through the pages of the textbook.

"I skimmed it," the boy on her left answered. "Not enough to save me."

"You read it?" the blond boy asked her, finally looking at her and smiling.

"No."

"Think he'll have a quiz today?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I'll think he'll have a quiz today," he murmured right before she saw Snape silently stalk into the room and reside at the front. He put a briefcase down on the table and started up the overhead projector.

"Take out a piece of paper," he said slowly and series of groans erupted throughout the room.

"Quiet! If you read the chapter like the syllabi instructed, there should be little reason to complain." Once the projector was on, a list of questions appeared on the screen covering the whiteboard. "Begin."

The boy on Hermione's left tore out a piece of paper from his notebook and placed it on her desk as well as gave her a pen. She picked it up tentatively and flashed him a quizzical smile.

"Same thing happened to me a few days ago. Got the days mixed up and brought all my Monday Wednesday junk to my Tuesday Thursday classes," he whispered.

For two minutes, Hermione rested her chin on her hand and quietly tapped the edge of the pen against the desk before reserving herself to look at the questions on the board and realized that Snape taught a chemistry class. From the looks of the questions, she'd assume an intermediate level. A wicked, childish idea bubbled into her mind which she couldn't deny for the life of her. In the right hand corner of the college-ruled paper, she wrote Hermione Granger and answered the questions to the quiz.

"Time," Snape said.

A student in the front raised her hand. "Professor Prince, may we have a few more minutes?"

Ignoring her, he said, "All of you pass your quizzes down to the front."

Once all the papers were collected, he put them in his briefcase and began a stimulating lecture on carbon. A half-hour in, Hermione's back and bum began to protest, and she squirmed in her seat. She'd forgotten how physically uncomfortable being a student was. When the class finally ended, she sighed in relief and gingerly got up from the desk, her hips and back popping in the process. God, she was getting old.

"How do you think you did?" asked the boy who gave her the paper. He was stuffing his notes into his book-bag and zipping it up.

"I got them all right."

He gave her an unsure smile. "You sure about that? Hardly anyone masters his quizzes. They're a grade killer."

"I'm not worried." She handed him his pen. "Thank you."

He took it and offered his hand. "Andrew Phelan."

She accepted it stiffly. "Morgan Black."

"I guess I'll see you around."

She smiled but said nothing and merged into the mass of exiting students. Snape was still at the front gathering his lecturing material and paid no mind to who was leaving the classroom. He hadn't changed much, ever still the strict and meticulous and difficult professor she remembered him as. How he came to Westminster or even this dimension, she didn't know, but she could wait. She waited this long already. What was a few more days?

* * *

Snape's class took place on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He probably taught more, but Hermione wasn't about to go to all of them. Her student days were behind her, and a college degree hardly impressed demons, vampires, and ghosts. Her old life had been all about the academics, and though she prided herself on being brilliant, this life was about staying alive and surviving the upcoming apocalypse. While lurking about the campus, she eavesdropped on several conversations about the catastrophes happening around the word. One seal may have not been broken but there were loads more bursting by the hands of Lilith.

Like she had on Wednesday, Hermione shuffled into the packed classroom and sat down near the back. Two girls sat down by her this time and neither paid much attention to her which was just as well. She threw the hood of her black jacket over her head, hunched over the desk, and rested her chin on folded arms. When Snape entered, he did not enter as briskly like the class previous class. This time he actually bothered to look at the class, his black eyes sweeping over the 150 faces. He didn't find her, and she would've been impressed if he had. So many students, and she looked a little bit different than she did at sixteen.

After a minute, he opened his briefcase, pulling a large stack of papers out and placing them on the front table. "The class average for the quiz was sixty-seven percent. Disappointing. You can pick them up after class."

Another hour of hell for Hermione's back and bum. Throughout Snape's lecture, she rubbed at the knot forming at the base of her spine. She knew that most of the problem was the beatings she took in the last ten years. Hardly thirty and feeling like sixty, she was.

The class concluded and Snape stood rigid and ready by the stack of papers. Thankfully for Hermione, about half of the students didn't bother picking up their quizzes, so she was able to sneak out without drawing any attention to herself. However, she did crook a finger and her quiz speedily flew between the students and into her hand.

The quiz was untouched, not a red mark anywhere. There wasn't even a score and after stealing glances at the other students' papers, she knew that wasn't normal.

* * *

Hermione took a hunt with Junior in Kensington which lasted the entire weekend. She poured herself back into her flat on Sunday night, showered her bruised body, and stared at her reflection for a while, caressing the shiner. Blasted siren and her impressive right hook!

She opened the drawer by her stomach and pulled out a small jar of healing cream. She hadn't used it in a while, wanting to stretch it as long as possible. The ingredients were expensive and hard to come by, so she only used the smallest amount and delicately rubbed it over her eye, clocking the gift Lestrange gave her in the mirror. She desperately wanted to slather on the entire jar of cream on forearm and erase the foul name from her body, but the years of hunting and prioritizing when it came to her healing cream had left her body permanently marred and somewhat immune to new imperfections. The MUDBLOOD scar would have to stay.

A, small sick part of Hermione liked what Lestrange had done. He gave her a permanent reminder of her roots, her origins, her home. If she ever began to believe this world was home, this physical reminder would keep her grounded and mindful of the truth.

The following morning, she peeled herself off the mattress and got ready for Snape's class. Perhaps she was merely miffed by her frustrating hunt, but she was done dawdling and playing mind-games with her former professor. It was time to confront him, so she sat in the back of the room again and listened to his lecture. Ten minutes before the class was to end, he started verbally quizzing random students. Many of them didn't know the answers in which case he'd ask the same question but to someone else until someone got it correct, pointedly ignoring any person raising their hand. Three minutes before the hour was up, there was a question which stumped every student, therefore, aggravating Snape.

"Really? No one? Pitiful." He turned around slowly and faced the whiteboard and began erasing the formulas he wrote during class.

Hermione rested her elbows on the desk and said, "There are _twenty-four_ potassium isotopes but only three occur naturally, therefore, the _only_ ones that are stable and consist of 39K, 40K, and 41K."

The hand holding the eraser froze for a moment before continuing. He said, "That is correct, Miss…"

"Granger. Hermione Granger."

* * *

A/N: No Draco again! Don't hate me. (But do you feel we're getting close? I feel we're getting close) Also, I'm not going to pretend I know anything about chemistry, carbon, or potassium. The internet is amazing and knows stuff, and I am not and do not.

Thank you readers, reviewers, and followers. I know some of you were surprised about Rabastan, and I had so much fun borrowing him from Ms. Rowling, only to slaughter him. I'm also giddy in adding Snape. He's just so frustrating and cool and a whole bunch of adjectives that don't really fit together in the same sentence.

I want to apologize in advance. I'm not sure when I'll get to update again. It may be next weekend or the following or the one after that. *Shrugs*

Please Read and Review!


	9. Chapter 9

_"There isn't any 'in there', it's just an archway, there's no room for anybody to be there..."_

_-Hermione Granger_

_Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix_

_Chapter 34, The Department of Mysteries_

* * *

"_Granger. Hermione Granger."_

Snape whirled around and stared directly at her. "Class dismissed," he announced.

She stayed in her seat as all the student collected their notes and departed from the classroom. Snape stood stock still by the table at the front, his black eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched unpleasantly. He must be trying to decide if she was a threat or even real. If she was actually here. To help him out, she pulled off her snowcap. Her hair was up in bun and she wasn't going to make a point by letting her curls loose. If the man couldn't recognize her, then that was his problem. Sure, thirteen years had put a few miles on her, but she hadn't changed that much. Her hair was darker and her skin paler, and the baby fat in her cheeks and the softness around her middle had vanished. But her eyes were still brown, her voice was the same, and she hadn't grown any taller.

When the last student left, she stood up from her desk. "It's been a while," she remarked and shoved her snowcap in the pocket of her leather jacket and descended down the aisle steps towards the front of the classroom. Snape zeroed in on her right leg (perhaps because she was favoring it) before returning to analyze her face.

When she got to the front, she respected their distance and pressed her back against the wall, close to the exit if things turned sour. She'd let her guard down around Rabastan and that was her fault, despite knowing the man was a dangerous killer. With Snape, she had no idea what he was all about. A former member of the Order of the Phoenix, yes, but that hardly meant anything to her anymore.

"In Headmaster Dumbledore's office, a dish of candy always resided on his desk? What was the candy?" Snape asked and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

_Very good_, she mused. _Never take anything at face value. Not in this world or in ours._

"Lemon drops," she said.

Snape considered her for a moment before slitting his eyes, tilting his head and asking, "Why now?"

"I didn't know."

He nodded slightly. "I thought…I _did_ consider that you might…but I didn't search for you. I truly believed you were gone, Miss Granger."

She turned to her side and ran a finger along the wall, pacing slowly. "I was. I don't exist. Not _here_." Although, if he had bothered to punch her name into a search engine, all kinds of _interesting_ facts would pop up. Like how she was wanted in the United Kingdom and the States for thirty _known_ murders, grave-desecration, thievery, credit-card fraud, identity fraud, identity theft, etc. Any sane person who wanted to find her would've stopped looking after reading that.

"None of us do," the man softly replied, making Hermione pause.

"_Us?_ Rabastan."

Snape widened his eyes. "You know of Rabastan?"

"I was there with you last week. At the abandoned building on Charring Cross Road. Rabastan brought me there, and I assume he did the same to you."

"He is dead, Miss Granger. You left me there?"

"I didn't know I could trust you. When I found Rabastan…You _do_ know what he was doing, right?"

"Do you?"

"What he thought necessary to restore his magic. It's a…slippery slope to take. Magic here…it's not natural, I've come to find and comes with a price," she vaguely commented and pinned him with an accusatory glance. "But you knew what he was doing? The killings? Sacrifices? And did nothing?"

"It's complicated," Snape said crisply and opened his briefcase, pulling out an index card and a pen. He wrote something on it and it to the edge closest to her. "Which I will explain in a more suitable setting. Come to this address tonight at seven o' clock."

"Yeah, I don't think so. The first person I meet from our world tried to have me killed, and I don't care he did the same to you. I _don't_ trust you." If her words stung or surprised him, he didn't let it show. But she stalked up to the table and pulled out a pen from her jacket and clicked it ready before turning the card over and scribbling down her own request. She clicked the pen closed and shifted the card towards him. "You _really_ want to talk, then come to this address at seven o clock. Don't worry. I'm buying."

* * *

Despite that she could bloody well show up to Vincent's in whatever the bloody hell she felt like, Hermione donned a dark maroon blouse over grey trousers. It was now five after seven and Franklin, her server, was starting to ask questions. Of course, he started asking questions when she had shown up via entrance instead of the back and requested a couple's table. He thought she was wining and dining with a bloke for the evening, but she wouldn't be drinking tonight and assured him and his protective-self that she really only wanted a cappuccino to keep her occupied until her _friend_ arrived. So here she was getting a sugar and caffeine high while waiting for Snape.

He showed up a few minutes later and towered over her, wearing a black trench coat over black slacks. "Miss Granger," he greeted blankly.

"Professor _Prince_," she said and gestured to the seat across from her, "please."

He rigidly sat down and scanned the restaurant. "A public setting. A wise choice."

Hermione rested her chin on her palm, studying him critically. He was obviously uncomfortable and distrusted her as much as she him, yet he showed up which meant just how curious he was about her situation.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"I hope to make this meeting short. We can depart into our separate lives after."

"Mm. Sounds reasonable. Where should we start then?"

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and interlaced them on the table. It was then she realized he had a wedding band. She quirked her lips and stifled an incredulous laugh. Who on earth would marry Snape? He was considerably unpleasant, both as a person and a teacher.

Hermione's amusement was short-lived when he requested, "Tell me all you remember that night at the Department of Mysteries when you passed through the veil and then I will tell you what happened after."

All the blood in Hermione's body rushed to her stomach, and she pressed a fist to her mouth, regretting she let Snape direct the conversation. She really did not want to recall that night. It was a terrible memory. Not her worst but bloody close to it.

She cleared her throat and rested her forearms on the table, leaning into them. "It was so long ago. I hardly remember every detail."

"Yes you do," he challenged. "If it were possible for everyone, they'd remember every aspect—every minute detail—of their death. Tell me."

She sighed and looked away. Bastard. "If you recall, Harry Potter shared a mental connection with Voldemort. Though Harry attempted to shut him out, I do believe Voldemort became aware of the connection and exploited it by making Harry think he snatched Sirius Black and took him to the Ministry, specifically the Department of Mysteries. In our quest to find Sirius, we came upon a large area with numbered aisles. Harry was positive his godfather was located in ninety-seven. As I'm sure you know, he wasn't. However, something else was. On one of the shelves was a sphere-looking jar with both Voldemort's and Harry's name on it. Not even a minute later, Death Eaters showed and wanted the sphere by order of their master.

"Sirius was never there, and I do think Voldemort manipulated Harry into believing he was for the sole purpose of getting Harry to snatch that orb. Ever so stubborn, Harry refused to give it up. A fight broke out, and the group and I did our best but, clearly, it was crucial for us to get away. We ran through several rooms and dueled to the best of our abilities, but we were young and inexperienced. I nearly got hurt, but Neville Longbottom jumped in front of a hex for me. Harry and I had lost the others, and neither of us could carry him, so I hid Neville away under the desk he jumped out of." A troubled frowned marred her features. "I don't even know if he lived.

"Harry and I did find the others, but they were either affected by the Department's odd magic, hurt, or about to get hurt. Soon it was just Harry and I. We were chased into a room we'd been in earlier. It was strange...like an ancient amphitheater. In the center was an arch and a odd-looking veil. Harry kept saying he heard whispers coming from behind it, but I never heard anything.

"I instantly became overpowered by a Death Eater and was used as leverage to get the orb from Harry. Bellatrix _Crucio-ed _me until the Order and Dumbledore arrived. Nymphadora Tonks began dueling with her and when I recovered, I'll helped. Despite there being two of us and one of Bellatrix, she hexed Tonks. I did my best to deflect every spell, every curse, every hex. Obviously, I wasn't good enough." Quietly, Hermione continued, "She struck me in the chest, and I was falling backwards. It was like drowning in a dream."

She stopped there. If there was one thing as painful as telling Snape the story of how she got here, it was explaining to him of _what_ happened to her when she got here. She didn't want his sympathy…if he gave her some, that is. She wasn't sure what would be more hurtful—if he pitied her or not.

"Tell me all that happened after I fell through," she said.

Snape paused for a long, considering moment before beginning. "Though I was not there, I did have access to the Order members' memories and critically examined the confrontation between Potter and the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries. I shall start from the moment after your _death _and disclose that Bellatrix never made it out of the Ministry alive that night. Potter killed her. When Black and Lupin prevented him from pitching forward after you, they could not prevent him from sprinting after Bellatrix and killing her in the Atrium and...Don't look so shocked, Miss Granger. Despite my distaste for Potter and the majority of my former students, I know you meant a great deal to him."

"But..." She couldn't imagine Harry doing that. Killing! It wasn't in his nature.

_It wasn't in yours either, _a voice said.

"Wouldn't have Dumbledore stopped him?"

"Dumbledore _couldn't_ stop him."

Hermione shook her head and tapped her fingernails on the table. What Harry did hardly mattered now. It happened over a decade ago, and she needed to focus on the larger picture.

The war.

"Go on," she told Snape. "Tell me the rest."

"Riddle showed and foolishly believed that because Potter killed, he'd be easily swayed to the dark side. Little did he know, the boy was hardly functioning. Most likely from losing you and realizing what he had done. Dumbledore stepped in and dueled Riddle whilst Black and Lupin escorted Potter out of the Ministry. Expectedly, Riddle got away and the Order was left to pick up the pieces. It was only a small blessing that the minister _saw_ Riddle before he disappeared.

"The Wizarding World knew of Riddle's return which increased the trepidation among the people. Witches and wizards began to disappear, and shops in Diagon Alley began to close. The Death Eaters there that night at the Ministry were rounded up and put on trail. All of them sentenced to Azkaban. As for Harry, he did not return to school to complete the year but stayed at Grimmauld Place until the Wizengamot decided if they were going to press charges. He had killed but so many of the members were relieved by Bellatrix's death. The charges were dropped, but he did not go unpunished, for he was disallowed to return to school much to the dismay of Dumbledore. Nevertheless, the boy was tutored at Grimmauld Place for the following summer and school. Potter never returned to his aunt's home, and Dumbledore paid many visits to prep him for what was to come. After much research on both their parts, they discovered Riddle used the Horocrux Theory to stay alive."

"The _what_?"

"To survive and live the way Riddle had, he had to split his soul into seven horocruxes. Destroying them meant destroying Riddle. These horocruxes were objects treasured by Riddle and were difficult to find and even more difficult to destroy. Unbeknown by all the Order, including Harry, Dumbledore infected himself in the process of destroying one. He was already dying and, at the time, Riddle was beginning to question my allegiance. If you recall, Miss Granger, I was a spy. Dumbledore asked, that at the proper time, I kill him and gain Riddle's full trust. I did what was asked of me and was supposed to go unnoticed. Not even the Order knew of our agreement. Dumbledore was to have been mysteriously killed, but unfortunately, there was a witness. Two, actually. Dean Thomas and Ginevra Weasley.

"While all this had happened, Death Eaters had been let into the castle and the children were attacked. When the Death Eaters believed to have caused enough damage, they deserted the place and I had no other choice but to go with them for the time being. I returned in the fall as headmaster by Dumbledore's request. He knew the school would be overrun by Riddle's followers and asked that I do what I can to keep the students alive while still maintaining my supposed allegiance to Riddle. My status as a double agent was over due to the Weasley girl and Thomas making long and detailed statements to the Order of what happened the night the headmaster died."

"For a year, I was headmaster. The following year, though, the school became obsolete. No one returned, and without Dumbledore's guidance, Potter struggled to find the horocruxes, let alone find the means to destroy them. He was on his own, and the ministry had long ago been infiltrated by Riddle's followers, and Potter was no longer seen as the amazing Boy-Who-Lived but a menace to society. Death Eaters were released from Azkaban, and the dark side began to grow, and Muggle-Borns had to leave the country or face imprisonment, torture, and even murder. The Order lost members and had little choice but to allow underage witches and wizard to fight for the cause.

"As Potter closed in on the last of the horocruxes, the final battle took place. It happened at Hogwarts and the castle was nearly demolished in the process. There were deaths on both sides, but Riddle ultimately failed and the light side won, which you are happy to hear, I assume."

"Mmm." Hermione cupped her chin and narrowed her eyes, perfectly calm and collected on the outside and falling apart on the inside. "So why are you here?"

Snape sighed and he looked terribly weary. "My name was never cleared, Miss Granger, and the memory of the agreement between Dumbledore and me was never taken into account during my trial. The Wizengamot gave two choices for the convicted: the veil or Azkaban."

"And you chose the veil," Hermione murmured. "As did Rabastan." She gripped napkin, twisting the cloth in two closed fists. This could only mean..."There are _more_ of you!"

She dropped the cloth and covered her mouth, her heart pounding painfully against her ribcage. She felt ill and had the distinct urge to borough underneath the table and not emerge _ever_! This was all too much to handle. One Rabastan was horrifying enough but if there were more…Oh, God, if there were more!

"I have to go," she managed weakly and got up, pulling a stack of pounds out of her purse and littering the table with them before dashing out of the restaurant, leaving behind her coat. The London streets were busy that night, and she lost herself in the crowd, speed-walking and then breaking out into a run until she arrived to the door of her flat. She closed and locked the door behind her and sank down to the floor.

What was she going to do? She couldn't be like Snape and let Death Eaters roam about. At the same time, she wanted to be. Her plate was already full enough.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she drew in a long deep breath. "What should I do?"

At the sound of fluttering, Hermione popped her eyes opened and saw Castiel standing in front of her. Tiredly, she asked, "Change your mind? Going to kill me now?"

He titled his head. "You prayed and I came."

"It wasn't so much a prayer but a…never mind." She slapped her hand on the ground and got her feet. "Well, are you going to answer it? It's the least you could do. You made me believe it was just me and Snape."

Castiel slowly stepped forward. "I thought it best. It's is true. There are others."

"What should I do about them?"

"There are far more pressing matters. Since our last meeting, another seal has broken and Lucifer is closer to walking the earth. If that happens-"

"Death Eaters will be the least of my problems."

"The least of everyone's."

Hermione nodded and peered at her shoes. "And if we are able to stop Lilith, what then?"

The angel turned his back to her. "My Father gave us free will. Choose what you think you must do."

He disappeared and Hermione sniffed. "You were a fat load of help."

* * *

**Early February**

A hand cupped Hermione's shoulder, and she jerked awake, pulling the gun out from under her pillow and pointing it at the intruder. Or what she hoped was in the general direction of the intruder. One of her eyes was glued shut and the other was fuzzy from sleep.

"It's me," Junior said. "It's early."

Hermione lowered the gun and yawned, sleepy tears running down her cheeks. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Mmhm."

"Hamilton hasn't called in a few days."

Hermione stretched her limbs towards the ceiling. "He's not back yet?"

"No. It's not like him."

She pulled the covers off her legs and got out of bed and bent backwards, popping her back and hips. "I'll get dressed."

They took Papa's car and drove to Manchester, sitting in silence for the majority of the trip. Twenty minutes before they go there, she whispered, "Have you told Papa why we took the car?"

"Don't want him to get worried over something that couldn't be anything."

"It's been four days."

"Hamilton's fine, Hermione," he said curtly. "Leave it."

The sun shined brightly but it was freezing cold, and the snow on the streets of Eccles were icy solid. They parked in the parking lot of the hotel Hamilton had stayed at and broke into the room. Newspaper clippings and articles from the internet littered the small table by the window. Hermione picked up one while Junior turned on his brother's laptop which was on the bed.

"See if I can find anything on here besides porn. Got something?" he said.

"No," Hermione lied and dropped the article. "I'm going to ask the front desk a few questions. I'll be right back."

"Before you go," he said and reached underneath the pillow beside him and pulled out Hamilton's pistol. He made sure the safety was on and then tossed it to her.

At the front desk, a young man in his twenties was handing a couple a pair of keys. They thanked him and left the lobby. The man's name was Todd according to his nametag. She gave him a small smile and he returned in kind. "How may I help you?" he asked.

She pulled out her wallet and took out a picture of Hamilton. "Have you seen this man before?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"And?"

"I'm not at liberty to give out information, Miss."

With her wallet still open, she pulled out two crisp twenty pound bills. He cleared his throat and grabbed them, folding them and slipping them into his vest. She noticed a bright blue tattoo on his right wrist. "Came in last Thursday and paid for a week's stay. Asked for no housekeeping. Is there a problem?"

"Are there any condemned or abandoned buildings in the area?" She offered another bill, and he pocketed it.

"Just the one on St. John."

"Thanks for your help." She left the lobby and walked outside, dialing Junior's number.

"Did you find out anything?"

"Maybe," she said. "Keep looking. I'm going to follow a lead. I'll be on St. John if I don't get back to you in an hour."

"Don't be going off by yourself. We're still not sure what Hamilton was hunting."

"I'll be fine." She hung up her cell, stopped by the local butcher's before walking the half-mile to St. John and finding an old, abandoned cotton gin. With her gloved hand, she scraped at the ice on the windows and peered inside, seeing nothing out of ordinary. She went to the side door next and palmed the lock before hitting it with the butt of Hamilton's gun. The rusted metal broke and she walked in, hissing when she stepped on broken glass. She whipped her gun around in case anyone or anything came flying towards her. From afar, she heard the sound of solid metal hitting cement. She crept towards the commotion, rounding a corner and seeing an emaciated corpse of a young woman about twenty. Her wrists were bound and tied to the railing of the light fixtures above her. A dried IV stuck out of her neck, and Hermione assumed the girl had been dead for over a week.

Hermione sensed a disturbance behind her, and she pulled a knife out of her coat pocket and whirled around to face Todd but bristled when seeing Hamilton strung up behind him the same way as the girl. His skin was ashy grey, and his lips were blue.

No!

Todd took full advantage of her distraction knocked the lamb-blood covered knife out of her grasp and raised a hand in front of her face, blue swirls appearing on the tips of fingers and wrapping themselves around the digits and palm, up passed the cuff of his sleeve.

"Wishes can come true," he said. "What's your wish?"

She let herself fall to the floor and kicked the djinn in the face when he stooped down after her. She grabbed the knife and ducked when he took a swing at her and then plunged the blade into his side and dragged it towards his middle. Todd howled in pain and fell, weakly clutching his bloody, gaping wound. She pulled the knife out and then shoved it into his heart. He stilled and crumpled to the floor and Hermione leapt over him to get to Hamilton, tears already welling up. She took off her gloves and touched his face, brushing her fingers over his hallowed cheeks.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's all right," she cooed and skimmed a fingertip over his jaw and then neck, yanking the IV out his vain. "Wake up."

Unable to reach the bindings around the light fixtures, Hermione undid them with a wave of her hand and let Hamilton fall against her. She laid him down and searched for a pulse and felt the faintest thrumming at his wrist and saw that his chest rise and fall. He shifted against her and it was so slight, she almost believed he hadn't moved at all. He opened his eyes barely and called out in the softest, driest voice, "Mum?" They closed, and his chest stopped moving.

"No," she wept and shook his shoulders. "Wake up! Please! Please, Hamilton!"

* * *

The priest stood at the edge of the cliff, speaking in both Italian and Latin while Papa and Junior stood beside him, their heads bowed. Papa held Hamilton in his arms, and Hermione felt ill. For days, she'd felt ill but seeing the urn where Hamilton's ashes dwelt made it worse. None of them had wanted to burn him but wanted bury him next to his mum. They were all hunters, though, and couldn't chance Hamilton to become a restless spirit.

The priest finished and Papa tightened his hold on the urn and he faced the people who'd come to pay their respects. All of the staff at the restaurant and many of the of the local hunters stood there at a section of Moher, red-eyed and half-sober.

"Many of you know that after Junior, my Antonia and I could not have any more children. But seven years later, this man," he gestured to the priest, "asked if my wife and I were interested in having more children. He knew of Antonia's circumstances, so I found his question odd. He explained that a child had been left on the doorsteps of the church." Papa's voice grew thick and tears streamed down his scruffy cheeks. "Hamilton looked nothing like his family, but he was ours. He was ours."

In broken English, the priest said, "Please join us in reciting the Lord's Prayer."

Hermione stayed quiet through the prayer, chin trembling and tears spilling.

It wasn't fair. Hamilton had only been twenty-seven and a damn good hunter. How did a pathetic jinn get the best of him?

Once the Lord's Prayer was finished, Papa turned around and uncapped the urn, swaying it as Hamilton floated on the brisk winds over the cliff and out towards the sea. This place had been his favorite. He and Junior visited it all the time. In the summer, they'd come and jump like the lunatics they were, taunting death. She did it once with them before she had left for the States and decided never to do it again.

Many of the guests stayed at the local hotels and inns that night but most of them resided in bars and pubs until closing time. Hermione joined them but stayed off in the corner, too miserable to even get the slightest buzz.

About five minutes till midnight and five expensive bottles of beer later, she was finally feeling a fuzzy. She dug out her phone, flipping it open and shut, and then open again before dialing Sam's number. She pressed send and waited for him to pick up.

_"This is Sam. Leave a message."_

"Sam," she said groggily. "I...uh...just wanted to call and see how you are. Call me back. It's Hermione."

She hung up the phone and set it next to her empty beer bottle. A few minutes later, it buzzed and she saw it was a text. A wave of disappointment washed over when seeing that it was from Junior and not Sam.

_Come see me_, it said.

To be continued...

Read and Review, please!

* * *

A/N: We have not heard the last of Snape. Don't worry _and_ don't fret. Draco is on his way (Most likely next chapter. And when he shows, I doubt he'll leave). I admit, though, I struggled to find the perfect way of introducing him. I wrote, deleted, and repeated a whole bunch of times. Now I _got_ it! I think it's going to be hardcore. ;)

Also, I hope none of my readers thought my AU version of the end of OoTP wasn't terrible. I don't think it was that bad, and I worked really hard on it. So if you're going to say you hated it, be constructive and tell me why.

Another thing, this fic is directed towards a certain audience. Not just basic or gen HP &amp; SP crossover lovers. Those readers might like this, and I think that's great.*Waves!* You guys are so cool! However, I don't want to get any sass from my reviewers snidely asking why _this or that_ is happening. If the story unfolds in a way that is disliked by some, I don't care. This was all thought of waaaaaay before you haters and complainers came around. Therefore, your whining has no impact on what has been or will be posted.


	10. Chapter 10

**Mid February**

Drenched and shivering from the icy sheets of rain, Hermione fumbled with her key, finding it difficult shoving the blasted thing into the hole. Finally, it slipped in and she entered the warmth of her flat. She instantly shirked her sopped running jacket and removed her shoes and socks. Her toes were wrinkly and white and cold, and she padded towards the bedroom and saw the bed messy and the loo door open. Fragrant steam from the running shower came into the bedroom, and she put her keys on the nightstand and stripped off the rest of her running clothes.

"I'm home!" she yelled.

"Did you bring breakfast?" asked Junior.

"No!"

"Whiskey, then?"

"No!"

"Damn."

She opened the door fully and leaned against the frame watching Junior through the fogged glass of the shower and then went and pressed her forehead against the glass. "I'm cold."

The door opened, and she stepped inside and cupped Junior's unshaved face, kissing him. His fingers found the pin holding her curls into place and gently pulled it out and placed it on the shelf. He used her hair as leverage to expose her neck and suck on her pulse.

"How was your morning?" she whispered throatily.

Junior cupped her breast and massaged it. "Lonely. Woke up and you were gone. You left your phone."

"I was gone longer than I thought I'd be. There was flooding on the Square. Didn't think I needed it."

He nibbled on her bottom lip and then brushed his nose against hers and cupping her palms, placing them where needed. "Who's Sam?"

Hermione knitted her brows. "Why?"

"He called. Who is he?"

"Are you seriously asking me that when I have my hands around your prick?"

He let go of her breast, and she him. He messaged his mouth and chin and then said, "Bloke seemed upset a man was answering your phone. Something you want to tell me, love?"

"You shouldn't have answered my phone." Hermione gathered her wet hair and started furiously working through the knots. He should've just let it ring!

"All I want to know is if you got some goddamn Yank bloody waitin' for you."

"You're blowing this way out of the water."

"Am I? You keep saying you're going back to the States, and I'm thinking it's because you want to be a part of the action. That's not it, is it? You got _him_ back there. You got _Sam_."

"Your jealousy is unbecoming. God, Junior, we're not even together. Not really."

He seemed troubled and stepped away from her. "Where do you see this going, Granger? Huh? Because I see us _together_."

"We're not good at being _together_, Junior. We're only good and two things, and one of them is hunting."

"This can work. We're not bleedin' kids anymore."

"We weren't kids _then_, and I don't know if you've noticed, but the world is ending, like, yesterday."

"The States are in the shit. Not us!"

"It'll spread. You know that." She sighed. "You're only acting this way because of Hamilton. You wouldn't be thinking this way otherwise."

"Don't tell me how I think."

"I will because I know how you think."

Junior glared at her, his golden brown eyes harsh. "I'm done hunting. Papa wants to go back to Italy. I'm going with him. I want you to come with us."

"Don't be ridiculous, Junior. You _can't_ quit hunting. There's only _one_ way out of this life."

"You go back to the States, Granger," Junior said quietly, "and you'll find _your_ way." His voice grew shaky and thick. "But who's going to burn you when you do?"

* * *

Junior hadn't a lot of things at her flat. Everything he brought a week earlier fit all into his duffle bag. He hesitated before walking out the door, his hand on the doorknob. He smiled grimly at her and said, "I'm going to miss you, Hermione."

"I'm not leaving yet, Junior," she told him.

"You do survive this thing, come see us. Papa would like that."

She returned a smile. "I would to."

"Happy Valentine's Day," he remarked before walking out the door.

* * *

Adjusting the hood of her grey, zip up jacket, Hermione filed onto the tube and squeezed by the other passengers who were more indecisive of whether they wanted to sit or stand. With her eyes on the target, she managed to sit far enough not to rouse suspicion but close enough to keep him in her sights. The man grinned lazily at his clueless victim who was wrapped around him, besotted and doe-eyed. He tucked a lock of ginger hair around her ear and gently kissed her. When he pulled away, the girl's blue eyes blinked open and completely glazed over. Blood rushed to her cheeks and her hand slid from his chest to cup the front of his trousers He laughed and whispered something in her ear, carefully extracting the palm over his manhood and placing it on his thigh.

Two hours ago Patrick Lewis came banging at her flat door. When she opened it, he shoved a file at her and shouted, "She's late! She's goddamn late! Blithering hell and all its goodies! She's fetching late! I have to go."

He tried to leave, but Hermione grabbed him by the back of his collar. "Hold on! Don't you dare dump this on me and leave!"

"Alexia's late, Granger! I have to go! She's waiting in the car!"

"What is she late for? A date?"

"A date." He laughed manically and then wailed dramatically. "No more dates for her! _Ever_, you hear? I told her to slow down. Stop and think, you know? But no." He shook his head and sniffled, messaging his eyes. "_'You're such a drag, Patrick. I can't take you anywhere, Patrick! I'm going out, Patrick! Don't follow me, Patrick! I can take care of myself, Patrick! You're not Daddy, Patrick! You can't ground me!'_"

"Patrick…"

"Oh, I'll put her in the corner." He nodded confidently, red-faced and peeved. "She's not hunting anymore! I'm sending her back to Mum and Dad, and they can bloody deal with her and the…Ah! I can't even say it! Dad's going to kill me! He's going to blame me, you know? And Mum? Don't get me started on Mother!

Hermione covered her mouth, nodding. "Those Irishmen, yeah?"

"Some sod," he hissed, clenching his fists. "Put his ruddy hands all over her and put his prick in her and now..."

"She's late."

"I have to go." He pointed to the file in Hermione's hand. "Take care of that. Works at Hallen &amp; Rowe as a top-notch attorney. Frequents at least five different strip joints. Alternates his visits but feasts on the same girls. He takes them back to his place and slowly drains them over a period of time. Two weeks in, they finally croak. You know…when they start…during there…" He grimaced and shuddered. "Cycle. Bodies can't handle it."

"I can't hunt an incubus, Patrick!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I thought it would be rude to ask Junior, and you're the closest hunter on the way to the clinic. Just be careful, love. You'll be fine. Out of all the girly hunters, you're the best and brightest. You take those pills."

"Patrick."

"Unless you don't need them…"

"Just go."

* * *

Mister Lance Redford lived in Surrey in a nice, two-story home fit for a family and not a bachelor. Hermione wondered if he fed the victims lies about how his home was too big and he wished to fill it with a beautiful wife and children. Some of these girls were looking for Prince Charming, and Redford fit that description. He was lawyer, over six feet tall, had greyish blue eyes, ginger blondish hair, and Slavic features. Indeed, he was a fine specimen. Plus, he was excreting supernatural pheromones, causing every female around him to want to make babies with him.

Hermione needed to keep focused, and she was doing brilliantly if she said so herself. When Redford and his companion got off the tube, she was subtle in following behind. When they dined on French cuisine, she sipped on club soda at the bar while reading the _London Times_, dodging the pitying looks from the bartender. Yes, she was alone on Valentine's Day and reading the newspaper at a bar, not even drinking.

After the three course meal, plus a shared slice of cake for dessert, Redford and his victim left the restaurant, and Hermione followed. He brought her to his home where his victim ooh-ed and ahhh-ed before they disappeared inside the house.

Hermione waited five minutes before testing the doorknob. It was unlocked, so she quietly entered and made sure the thin stake of holy wood was still strapped underneath her bra. She crept into the kitchen and swiped a knife in case she needed to slow down Redford enough to kill him.

Thumping and giggling could be heard from upstairs, so Hermione hurriedly found the staircase and climbed them and saw the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. The door was open, and she heard bed springs creaking loudly. The girl wasn't giggling anymore but moaning tiredly. "You always make me feel this way," she said.

Hermione slipped her finger up the back of her jacket and shirt as she went towards the bedroom. She got about halfway there when something made her stop. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she swiveled her eyes to the right where she saw a closet door with ventilation slots.

Someone was watching her.

She focused back on the open doorway and distinctly heard a man grunting. The incubus was in there, so who was in the closet?

She closed her eyes and tried to pick up any sound that _wasn't_ coming from the bedroom and barely made out some whispering coming from the closet.

"_There is somebody in the house. I, repeat, there is somebody in the house. Presumably female. Age, unknown. Height, approximately 1.6 meters. She's wearing a grey jacket with a hood. I can't see her face. The hallway is too dark."_

There were times Hermione had to make split decisions, and this time was no different. There was a cop inside that closet who was reporting back to someone most likely not far. They were not equipped in handling an incubus. Their tranq darts would do nothing to stop it or even slow it down.

Since the first time she was arrested, Hermione hadn't pleasant experiences with the police. Nevertheless, she knew most of them to be good people, and she would be doing a dishonor to civilians and society if she didn't look after them when presented the opportunity.

Hermione faced the closet and flicked the lock on the doorknob.

"_I've been made. She's locked the door. What is she doing?!"_

She ran from the closet and into the bedroom and saw Redford and the girl underneath the covers. He was thrusting over her supine form and bristled when sensed her. He snapped his focus on her and growled. "Dessert," he purred and grabbed the confused girl by the head. "This one's about dead anyway."

Hermione grabbed the knife she stole from the kitchen from the back of her jeans and flung it at him, the blade embedding in his muscled arm. He howled and leapt from the bed, coming at her in a sprint. She kneed him between the legs, and he doubled over. She grabbed his chin and the back of his skull and twisted with all her might, breaking his neck. He fell to the floor. It would only neutralize him momentarily.

"Leave," she told the girl.

"You killed him!" she wept weakly, struggling to get off the mattress.

"He was going to kill _you_. You need to leave _now_!"

Still sobbing, the girl ran into the loo and closed the door behind her, locking it.

"Whatever," Hermione muttered and stooped over, rolling Redford onto his back and sliding out the holy wood from underneath her shirt.

"Freeze! Don't move!"

She glanced over her shoulder and saw a man dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, a tranq gun trained on her.

"Shit," she whispered and rolled her eyes, slowly bringing her hands by her head.

"Drop whatever it is you're holding!"

She complied and he came up behind her, grabbing her wrist. She twisted it and turned around, grabbing his hand and bringing her foot up to kick the tranq out of his grasp. She threw a right hook which the man blocked and attempted kicking him again, but he grabbed her foot and flipped her onto the floor. From there, she brought her knee to the back of his and brought him down to her level. She grabbed the front of his hoodie and he locked his fingers around her wrists and did a backwards roll, bring her along with him. He had her pinned at the threshold of the bedroom, and she curled her legs up and wrapped them around his neck and flipped him onto his side. She scrambled to get away from him and saw the tranq gun within arm's reach. She swiped it and pointed it at him. "You are ruining everything!"

"Let me make it better," a conscious Redford cooed and grabbed her hood and pulled it back, sinking his fingers into her hair and yanking. He dragged her towards the bed as she scratched at his grip. She fired a dart at him, hoping to catch him in the eye but she missed. He chuckled and took the tranq from her and fired it at the cop who was starting towards them. The man dodged it and lunged at Redford, both falling to the bed. Hermione crawled away to snatch the holy wood stake and got to her feet, watching as the cop delivered punch after punch to incubus.

"Get out of the way!" she barked.

"Bitch, don't move!" the cop yelled and Hermione frowned. Did she look like she was going somewhere?

"Get off of him!" She linked her fingers through his belt loops and pulled him off Redford and delivered an upper cut to his jaw and a swinging fist to his nose. He fell to the floor, cupping his bleeding face.

"Have you no marbles?!" he hissed.

"Plenty." She straddled the black and blue Redford, plunging the stake into his heart. Smoke oozed from the wound and towards the ceiling, evaporating into nothing.

"What the bloody hell?" the cop cursed, his focus trained on the ceiling.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't ask." She marched passed him but he grabbed her by the ankle, tripping her.

"I don't think so." He sat on her legs and forced her hands behind her back. "I have to take you in. My partner is on his way now. You cost us this case."

"Redford is dead! I bloody solved your case, you ungrateful arse!"

"You murdered him."

Hermione felt the cold metal of handcuffs link around her wrists, and she exhaled sharply.

Well, shit!

The cop helped her to her feet and flicked on the lights by the door. Hermione grimaced and reluctantly craned her head to look at the man behind her who was pulling off his hood to reveal stark blond hair.

"Nice hair," she snickered and then something icy pooled in her stomach when she settled on his shocked face. "Oh, my God!"

Hermione flattened her back against the wall and faced him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her heart thumped wildly, and she was stunned, _utterly_. She had no idea what to do. If she should run or say something…

"Get away from me," she ordered shakily. "Don't touch me. Don't come any closer."

"You're alive?"

Draco Malfoy looked like he was going to be sick. He was ashen grey and covered his mouth, taking a a step back.

Tears slipped down Hermione's cheeks. She couldn't help it. She was utterly revolted. Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, and that meant only one thing.

Death Eater.

He put up his hands. "It's all right. It's okay. Bloody hell, _look at you."_

"You disgust me! You're disgusting! Get away from me! I know what you are. I know what you are." She stared at his covered left forearm. "Come any closer, and I'll break your neck, I swear to God."

"Is that so?" He narrowed his eyes and stepped back. "Easy, Granger. I think we need to talk."

Hermione tossed the unlocked handcuffs at his face, distracting him. She ran by him and into the hallway and into a solid mass. Instinct kicked in and she knocked the man's arms away from her and grabbed his shoulders and bringing his face towards her, and she slammed her forehead against his before pushing him aside and running down the stairs. She saw police lights in the front yard, so she ran towards the backdoor. The moment she had the door open, she thought of her flat in London and Disapparated, a hand grabbing her shoulder right when she did.

Twisting and turning through time and space, Hermione landed in a heap on the carpet of her sitting room and froze when hearing a scream of pain. She turned towards the sound on saw Malfoy clutching leg above his right knee, blood pouring onto the floor, soaking into the carpet.

"Help," he wheezed, his teeth clenched together. "Help me."

Splinched. He'd been splinched!

"You shouldn't have run after me," she cried and she clutched her stomach. He was going to bleed out and a part of her didn't care. He was a Death Eater! A murderer!

The other part, the more humane, saw his pained face and heard his pleas. She couldn't let him die like this, so she ran into her loo and brought back the first aid, dumping the entire box's contents on the floor beside Malfoy. He was no longer clutching his leg but shivering and whimpering, and his chest stuttered for breath. She grabbed the scissor and cut at the knee of his blood-soaked trousers and examined the wound. He needed to go to the hospital. Nevertheless, she poured peroxide over the bleeding hole where flesh and muscle used to be. Malfoy yelped and hissed and tried to move away from her.

"Don't. I'm trying to help you."

He stopped moving and the wound bubbled and foamed a pinkish hue. Hermione grabbed a syringe full of lidocaine and injected it near the gaping hole. There was enough to numb a good portion of his quadriceps. While she waited for that to kick in, she readied a needle and thread and started sewing up the injury. By the time she was halfway done, Malfoy was eerily quiet. She looked at his bloodless face. He was staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

"I'm almost done. I suggest you get to the hospital as soon as possible," she told him.

"You can Apparate," he whispered.

"Yes."

He lifted his head and swallowed, his grey eyes filled with mistrust and fury. "How?"

"You may limp for a while."

"Tell me_ how_!"

She flicked her gaze at him, annoyed. "No."

"You owe me an explanation."

Finishing the last stitch, Hermione tied it off and snipped the needle free. "I don't owe you anything."

"You splinched me!"

"You grabbed me!"

"Because you were trying to get away!"

"Because you're a Death Eater!"

He bared his teeth. "You don't know anything, Granger, so shut your mouth."

"You'd be surprised what I know, Malfoy." Hermione pulled back the sleeve of his hoodie and scoffed when seeing the Dark Mark. "You're a monster."

He batted her hand away and glared at her. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it? Don't think I haven't forgotten what you did to that man. Impaled him."

"You saw the smo...Forget it. You wouldn't understand." She placed a large chunk of gauze over Malfoy's injury and started wrapping up his lower thigh and upper knee.

"I don't know what I saw. All I know is that I've spent a year on this Redford case, and you come in and _impale_ it! What the hell were you even doing there?"

"I'm not taking you back to Surrey. You're going to have to find your own way."

"To hell with Surrey, you locked me in a closet and killed Redford!"

"I didn't realize the police took up breaking in-and-entering."

"I had a warrant to search his place. You're the one who broke in."

"The door was unlocked. I broke nothing."

"You trespassed onto private property and completely botched my bonus!"

"Oh, not your bonus! And to think, Malfoy, you could've bought yourself a nice plot at one of the Magnificent Seven and perhaps a nice casket, too, because Redford would've torn you limb from limb."

To be continued...

* * *

A/N: Abrupt ending, I know. Sorry. At least it's not a super cliff-hanger.

I worked hard on Draco's intro, but I know it may not please everyone. If I do get negative feedback, I hope it's constructive. If you did like it, let me know you what you think. :)

Thank you readers, reviewers, followers, and those who have put this fic on their favorite list. I'm pleased with all the positivity this story has gotten.


	11. Chapter 11

_"Oh, not your bonus! And to think, Malfoy, you could've bought yourself a nice plot at one of the Magnificent Seven and perhaps a nice casket, too, because Redford would've torn you limb from limb."_

Malfoy grumbled unintelligibly, sliding back down on the floor, his arms spread away from him. "I was supposed to arrest him as a suspect in ten other murders. Hadn't a single shred of evidence he killed those women aside from circumstantial. Didn't matter he shagged them all."

Hermione frowned at him as she gathered the littered bandages, peroxide, and ointments. She put them pack in the first aid kit and said, "You wouldn't have solved the case, Malfoy. Not in a million years. You would have had to let him go."

"How kind of you to say."

"I'm being honest. Like you said, you have no idea how he killed those women."

"Drugs."

"What kind?"

"There loads out there. You want me to pick one?"

"You would've found traces of it in the victims' bodies, but there weren't any, were there? All you found was high amounts of dopamine and low amounts of adrenaline in her system. So low in fact, it was like her gland had shriveled into a walnut. Am I right?"

Draco sat up again. "How'd you know?"

Before snapping the first aid kit shut, she handed him an antibacterial packet. "For your nose."

He ripped it open and swabbed the cloth over his nose, mouth and parts of cheeks. She watched his movements, critically eyeing the physical changes adulthood gave him. He was what? Her age, she assumed. Like a man from wizardry lineage, he looked young, appearing to be in his early twenties instead of nearly thirty.

"What are you staring at?"

"Uh…you. Obviously."

"Why?"

"Because you're in my flat, and I don't like it."

"So you're going to stare at me until I go away?"

"You're going to leave whether I stare at you or not. I'm just…" She shrugged and gestured at him. "Confused. You're a Death Eater. I thought you were all talk when we were kids. I had _no idea_ you were that stupid."

He blew out a sharp breath and laughed bitterly. "Well, I was. Make no mistake."

"I won't again."

"Wow." Malfoy caressed his nose gingerly and smirked at her. "You're all kinds of venom, aren't you? Hmmm. So tell me, Granger, how did you know I bore the mark?"

"Because you're here. Only Death Eaters came through the veil after I did."

"Really? And who told you that?"

"Snape."

Malfoy bristled and his simper faded, eyes widening. "You're lying."

"Yes, because he was the _first_ person to pop into my head."

"Snape would've told me he saw you. That he talked to you."

"You're in contact with him? He didn't mention you at all when we spoke last month." Hermione leaned towards him. "Who else came through that veil, Malfoy?"

"I can't name them all, Granger."

Hermione closed her eyes and put an arm over her stomach, suppressing the bile creeping up her esophagus. Castiel had said there were bigger things. Priorities, he mentioned.

"You all right?"

"Mmm."

Her cellphone in her bedroom rang, and she scoffed and rolled her eyes. Sam! She was _not_ answering it!

"You gonna get that?"

"No."

"Don't let me stop you."

"You couldn't stop me if you tried."

The ringing stopped, only for it to start right up again.

"Sounds like it might be important."

"You should be more concerned with yourself, Malfoy. Right now I'm thinking of the easiest way of getting you the hell out of my flat."

The man tossed her a heated glare while digging around in his pockets, eventually pulling out a cellphone. He flipped it open and smiled. "It still works."

"Who are you calling?"

"My partner."

Hermione yanked the device out his hand and sent a magical surge into, feeling the uncomfortable pricks of it short-circuiting on her skin and then offered it back to him. He hesitantly accepted it and cursed. "Shit, Granger!"

"There's something you should know, Malfoy."

"That you're a bitch?"

She crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees. "I can't believe you're a police officer, but seeing that you are and that we've unfortunately come across each other, you need to know something about me. The moment I got here, I've wanted nothing more than to get back. As I searched for ways, I discovered this world has magic, too, but not like ours. Our magic is from within us. The magic here is not and is dark and used for selfish gain. The people who use it call upon an evil force to give them the power they were never meant to have. I search for this evil, Malfoy, so I can get rid of it. Also, there are other things in this world that I can't explain. Redford wasn't human and didn't use human methods in killing those women. You saw the smoke come out of him. I know you did.

"Not long after I started searching for these monsters, I got in trouble. With the law. A lot. Like Redford, some of them look human. Some of them are. There isn't a law here for the supernatural like there is at home, so people like me hunt and kill them. It's not a law-abiding lifestyle, but what I do is important."

Malfoy blinked. "Granger?"

"What?"

"You've been alone for a long time. Having no contact with anyone who could possibly understand you. Bloody hell, how old were you when you got here? Fifteen? Sixteen? You didn't have any support system when you got here, right? Social services were called. You probably had to go through the system-"

"Are you psychoanalyzing me?! Hermione screeched and backhanded, relishing the sound of her flesh hitting his. God, that felt good! "_You_ are just like them!"

He cupped his cheek and glared at her. "Like what?"

"A _Muggle_! You don't know _anything_. You can't do _anything_. You can't see _anything_ but what's in front of your face. Even then…" She slapped him again. "You're blind!"

She took him by the shoulders and thought of Redford's backyard and Apparated, immediately pushing Malfoy onto the lawn and then went back to her flat. She stood in the middle of the sitting room, next the large blood stain and vibrated with fury for several moments before clenching her fists and screaming at the top of her lungs. The windows shook, cracked, and shattered. The telly short-circuited and crumbled, and every light bulb in the flat burst. The power went out, and Hermione unclenched her fists and went into the bedroom, stepping over broken glass on the way. Her phone was destroyed and the bathroom mirror and glass door of the shower was in shards on the tile floor.

Hermione dropped to her knees beside the bed and pulled out her suitcases, filling them with her belongings. She went into the closet and pulled the dresser back and moved the false wall, shrinking her trunk and shoving it into her luggage. In minutes, she was gone and wouldn't see Draco Malfoy again for two years.

* * *

_"And upon his rising, there shall be hail and fire mixed with blood."_

_-Revelations_

_(Supernatural 5x03: Free To Be You and Me)_

_**September 2009**_

**Hawley, Pennsylvania**

The demon struggled to break free from the binds holding him to the chair. The hunter named Reggie pulled out a small pocketbook and started reciting the exorcism while his partner Tim stood from the sidelines nursing his flask. Their other partner Steve had been killed an hour back when they'd broken into a store for more supplies, specifically salt. They were ambushed by demons, and the poor man was gutted. Hermione and the other two hunters had barely gotten away and were able to take three demons with them with the intent of questioning and exorcizing them. They were on the last demon, and he was more powerful than the last two.

Hermione, like Tim, stood from the sidelines. This had been her hunt, having arrived not long after Hawley started getting violent hailstorms. She finished up her hunt in Tallahassee and drove. Quickly upon arriving to Hawley, she knew she was way in over her head and knew a lost cause when she saw one. She was about to leave when a group of hunters rolled in. All of them were reluctant to join forces, but if they could save this town by working together, then they were willing to put their distrust and pride aside for the greater good.

The demon in the chair howled and then cackled. "You want to know why all of this is happening?! I'll tell you why! Sam Winchester."

Hermione bristled at Sam's name. She hadn't been able to find him since she arrived to the States back in May. She tried calling him again and again, but he never answered. In June, she even called Bobby. The man was all venom and made it known how much he distrusted her. When she simply told him she was trying to get ahold of Sam, he cursed her out and hung up the phone.

"What about Sam?" she asked.

The demon snapped his focus on her, looking at her like he had forgotten she was in the room. His eyes flashed black. "He set our master free! He is the reason for it all! He drinks the blood of our master's children. It strengthens him! He killed Lilith and Lucifer arose!"

"Son of a bitch is lying," Reggie hissed.

"Of course he is," Hermione agreed.

"They tell the truth sometimes, too," Tim said.

"Not this," she defended.

He put the muzzle of his saw-off to his temple. "Think about it. There's been talk about John's boy for years."

"Just exorcize him," she told Reggie.

Reggie seemed hesitant and looked from Tim to the demon. The demon grinned, blood on his teeth. "The bloody strengthens Sam. He's been consuming for a long time. It helps him control us. _Kill_ us. Why are you so busy hunting _us_ when you have the real monster within your grasps? He set Lucifer free and now thousands, maybe even millions, will die. Between you and me, I can't wait to see it."

"You won't," Hermione growled and went to finish the exorcism when Tim stopped her.

"QUIET! I want to hear more."

"He's lying!"

"What do you think, Reg?"

The man put away his pocketbook. "It's worth investigating. For Steve."

Tim nodded grimly and unsheathed his knife. "Find a vial."

"What are you doing?!" She got between him and the demon while Reggie left the room.

"Think it's time we pay Sam a visit again?"

"Again?" She narrowed her eyes. "Where is he?"

"Greely. Working at a bar. We could probably use the help, Granger."

"Help with what?" she asked warily.

"I'm going to shove some demon blood down the boy's gullet and see what happens. If the demons right, Sam'll be able to clean up his mess. Kill demons."

Hermione shook her head. "The demon is lying, and Sam won't let you do that."

Tim chuckled bitterly. "Oh, I know. Like I said, Reg and I are going to need your help." He grabbed her throat and squeezed, pulling her towards him. "He'll need some incentive. _Don't _move or I'll bring him your head. Reg!"

Reg came back into the room, a vile in his hands. "Got it."

Hermione stilled Tim pulled out his knife and caressed the skin under her chin with its tip. She glared Reggie who went up to the smirking demon. "I'll gladly bleed for this cause," the demon said.

"Good." Reggie cut the demon's throat, black smoke and blood pouring out of the gash. He stuck the vial underneath the down-flow, filling it to the brim and then capping it.

"There's no way you can keep me until Greely," Hermione said in a hallow voice.

"We'll see about that," Tim said.

She would have to be quick and thorough. Bringing her wrist up, she pressed the release button on her watch and sprayed pepper spray into Tim's eyes.

"Bitch!" He let go and stumbled back, covering his eyes.

Reggie fired a shot at her which she dodged and kicked the gun out of his grip. She gripped him by the lapels of his jacket and kneed him in the groin and then in the chest. He fell backwards, clutching his manhood and groaning. She went to run out of the room and get the hell out of Hawley but heard a shot being fired and felt a searing, hot pain in her shoulder. She peered down at the blood oozing from the right side of her clavicle and turned around to see a swollen-eyed Tim with a pistol trained on her.

Hermione fell to the floor and cupped her wound, inhaling shakily. Tim and Reggie stood over her, and Reggie asked, "What should we do with her? Take her still?"

"No. She'll bleed out before we get there. Leave her."

The two men left, and Hermione slowly and painfully climbed to her feet. She walked outside and saw half the neighborhood in ablaze. She managed to go another three blocks before seeing fire trucks parked along the sidewalk and firefighter running out of a burning home. One of them saw her and rushed towards her. He removed his goggles and mask. "Jesus, lady, why haven't you evacuated?"

"Help," she hissed and stared pointedly at her blood covered hand covering her injury.

* * *

The firefighters didn't ask any questions, nor did the paramedics. They had dealt with worse in the past week. She along with many others were taken to the next city where they received medical treatment at one of the hospitals. She stayed long enough for the doctors to get the bullet out of her shoulder and put a sling on her before dashing out and getting on the earliest bus to Greely. When she found the bar Tim and Reggie mentioned, she found a blonde woman sweeping the floor, tears running down her cheeks. The woman looked up and then down, shaking her head. "We're closed," she said.

"I'm looking for a man. Sam is his name."

The woman stilled and wiped at her face. "Please. I don't want any trouble."

"Neither do I. Just want to talk to him. Do you know where he is?"

"He might be in for his next shift. Might not be." She shrugged and bent over to grab the dustpan. It was then that Hermione realized she was sweeping up shards of glass. On the cement floor, a small amount of blood was spattered.

"I just want to see if he's all right. I thought he might be in trouble."

The girl swept the shards into the pan and peered up at her, smiling bitterly. "Are you his girlfriend?"

"No. His sister," she lied and hoped it softened the girl up enough for her to spill where Sam was.

The lie worked because the woman's features relaxed and she said, "He's staying at the Great Plains Motel as far as I know."

"Thank you."

* * *

Massaging around the wound, Hermione grimaced before knocking on Sam's door. A few seconds later, Sam ripped open the door, wide-eyed and alarmed. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"I told you I'd come back if things got worse," Hermione reminded gently and soaked in his presence. He looked tired, starved, ashen, and frightened.

"You shouldn't be here," he mumbled and craned his head to look behind him. Hermione followed his line of vision and wondered what he was staring at. "It's not safe."

"I know." She nodded. "But I had to see if you were okay. The hunters Reggie and Tim were going to come after you. Did they?"

"You don't understand," he said and scratched the back of his neck. "I don't hunt anymore. I'm done."

"Done? Don't be stupid, Sam," she said. "Where's your brother? Where's Dean? He should be with you."

"Dean and I have gone our separate ways."

Hermione took a step backwards, frowning. "It's the apocalypse, and you're deciding to have a midlife crisis _now_?"

His eyes moistened and he stared miserably at her feet. "You were right. The last time we saw talked you said I felt different. I was. I _am_. I made mistakes, and I can't fix them."

"Yes you can," she told him calmly, hiding her rage and disappointment well. That demon in Hawley was right.

"I don't think you understand what I did!"

Hermione smiled stiffly. "I think I do and the only way you're going to fix it is if you get back out there and undo it."

"How? I can't put Lucifer back in his cage."

"Then try. Try something, Sam. Now is not the time for you to feel sorry for yourself. You're not doing anyone any favors by not hunting. The world needs hunters more than ever. It's bad out there," she said, using his own words against him.

Sam noticed her sling. "Yeah," he whispered. "But I can't."

"Too bad!" she barked and brushed by, into his flat. He closed the door and followed her. "You've got to do something. You are not getting off the hook that easily. You're sorry for what you did? Then doing something about it. Correct it. You're not a pussy, Sam, so stop acting like one."

"Hermione, please," he said softly. He came up to her and caressed her cheek. "It's not safe for you here."

She closed her eyes and cupped his hand. "Come with me. We'll go find your brother. I'll hunt with you both if that's what you want."

"No!" He let go of her face like he'd been burnt. "If something happened to you because of me…"

"If anything happens to me, Sam, it won't be because of you. Honestly," she huffed and cocked her hips, "you're not that special."

"Just go!"

Hermione stared at him pityingly and pulled out a piece of paper and offered it to him. "Fine. Here's my new number. Call me anytime."

He accepted it and solemnly croaked, "I called you. On Valentine's Day. Some guy answered. I called you again, but you never called back."

"I will this time." This time she caressed his face, eyeing his hallowed cheeks. "I promise."

* * *

**Three Days Later…**

Entering her New Jersey flat, goose-bumps flared on Hermione's skin. She shivered and put her free arm over her sling to preserve warmth, wondering if the heater was broken. She walked further into the apartment and saw the light on in her office, and her heart sank low into her belly. Her fingers cupped the handle of her gun and pulled it out of the holster and crept slowly towards her office. When she came to the halfway-open door, she pushed it open and saw a man sitting in her chair. His back was to her and was wearingjeans and a plaid shirt.

"Hello, Hermione," he said. His voice was gentle, and she didn't recognize it.

She raised her gun. "Who are you?"

He turned around and faced her, smiling welcomingly. There was coldness and distaste in his eyes, though, and she flipped the safety off her pistol.

"The reason why you're here." He stood up from the chair and stepped forward, opening his arms out.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about who brought you here. To this world. Come on," he said in a taunting voice. "You don't think that ridiculous _veil_ always led to this world, did you? It was something I had arranged a while ago."

Hermione curled her finger around the trigger and pulled, a black hole imprinted in the middle of the man's chest on his shirt. He sighed and raised an amused eyebrow at her before pointedly digging the bullet out of his chest bone and dropping it on the floor.

"I'm really disappointed in you, Hermione. My brother gave you a spectacular gift, and you still resort to such primitive weaponry that does more harm than good. The things you could do in this world with the magic my Father allowed you to have…"

"You're brother?" she whispered and stepped back. "Father?"

"I was rather peeved when I discovered Gabriel had joined the pagans. Clever ruse, though, I'll give him that."

Hermione whirled around and ran to the front door and couldn't open it. She banged on it several times before thinking of somewhere far away but found herself stuck inside her flat with _him_.

Oh, God, what did he want?!

She thumped her forehead against the door, tears slipping down her cheeks.

This was it.

"The last thing I want is to scare you, Hermione," the devil said smoothly.

She clenched her teeth and turned to face him. "What do you want?"

"It's true, I arranged for the veil to lead here. I admit, it was never my intention for _you_ to come through. What do they call them?" He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Death Eaters. It was only supposed to be them."

"For what?"

"My demons were always a means to an end. They are helping me purify the earth, but what happens after? I won't need them anymore, and I will destroy them and replace them. You see, Hermione, these humans are hardly better than apes. Then my Father created your kind. I thought there was hope, but you all are ultimately human, aren't you? Murderous, selfish, lustful. After I fell, I had a long time to think. If I tweaked the humanity out of your race and let your souls operate fully, my father's flawed creation would be perfected."

Hermione covered her mouth and swallowed the vomit hitting the back of her throat. No, this wasn't real. It was all an accident, her being here. The Death Eaters were, too. It wasn't some plan made by Lucifer himself.

"There aren't enough us." Hermione tried to sound confident, but she had no idea how many Death Eaters were out there. Draco hadn't known and Snape didn't say anything. "And who's to say they'd follow you?"

"Already some of you have mated and multiplied, passing on your natural magic. Those, including you, will all live through these difficult times, and I won't allow any harm upon your kind if they join me. I suspect many of them will. Many of them are just begging for a master again. I was always their true dark lord. Join me, Hermione, and we can find them. I'll restore their magic, and soon we'll be able to restore balance to this world."

"No."

He grinned at her like she was a cooing infant. "Serve me for a little while and I will take you home."

Cautiously, she said, "It'll disrupt the natural order. It will become chaotic like this world."

"I can make it the natural order. No one will have to die in your place. Come on. It's what you've always wanted. You don't belong here and honestly," he looked upon her with sympathy, "I don't need you. I won't lie to you, Hermione. What I do need is you out of the way."

"And…why is it that I'm so special?" She plastered her back against the door, her heart pounding and adrenaline coursing in her veins.

"I know about you and Sam. You distract our boy, and I can't have that. You see…I have big plans for him. This body," he gestured to his body, "can't contain me forever. Sam is my true vessel. Do you know where he is, Hermione? I'd like to speak with him face-to-face. He has a misguided idea of me, and I want to clear things up. I am not the bad guy here."

She brought her sleeve to her face and scrubbed away the tears. "If I tell you, will you take me home? You said it yourself that you don't need me. I think it's a fair deal."

Softly, he replied, "It's fair enough.

Hermione swallowed thickly, calming her breath and then saying, "Yeah, I'm not going to tell you."

"I'm offering you a way home. You won't get that again."

"I've accepted that I'll never go home. I'll never tell you where Sam is. You'll never have him."

"Hermione," he sang softly. "I can make things very difficult for you."

"I'm sure you can."

"Tell me where Sam is, and I'll stop your lungs from being liquefied."

The wind escaped her, and she tried to breathe but when she opened her mouth, blood streamed onto her jacket. She doubled over, fighting the excruciating pain beneath her ribcage. Her vision began to darken, and she could barely hear him when the devil said, "Do I have your attention?"

_I'm still not telling you_, she thought. She couldn't speak.

"That's unfortunate." He shrugged, hardly bothered by her refusal. "But I think I like this situation better. I just wish you would've told me where Sam is."

He disappeared, leaving Hermione on the floor. She was on her side and too weak to move and no longer felt pain. Vaguely, she heard her phone go off in her pocket, and her eyes fluttered shut. It was Sam.

_One way out of this life, _was her last thought before completely blacking out.

To be continued...

R&amp;R, please!

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for any mistakes and for the cliffhanger. I'll go back and clear up the mistakes later.

So, I'll answer a few questions. No, Draco did not lose his leg. Eventually, this will be a Dramione, but it will obviously take some time because Draco is a douche and Hermione is conflicted when it comes to Sam. Aside from Death Eaters and Hermione, I haven't officially decided if there will be others from the HP World.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews and such! Thank you followers and those who favor this fic!


	12. Chapter 12

**Mid October 2009**

**Surrey, England**

Draco stared up at the afternoon sky and exhaled, leaning against the wall of the building as puffs of smoke curled up into his nostrils. He took another drag of his cigarette, and the door next to him opened and his partner stared at him grimly. "We got her."

As if this wasn't the most fantastic piece of news in the entire goddamn world, he coolly replied, "I can't believe Interpol complied with our request."

"They don't care anymore, that's why. Drake," his partner cleared his throat, "you need to see this."

Frowning, Draco limped after him to the parking lot. "She's not here?" he asked.

"No. Get in."

Draco got in the passenger seat of their vehicle, and Blaise drove them to the Borough morgue. When they parked, Draco tossed an accusatory stare at him. His partner killed the engine and said, "Like I said, they don't care anymore."

Ten minutes later, he and Blaise stood in a metallic, polished room next to a zipped up body bag on an autopsy table. On the other side of the table were an Interpol agent and a mortician. The agent, Theroux, said, "The formaldehyde and ice have prevented the body from decomposing. May I ask what you plan on doing with her?"

Neither Draco nor Blaise said anything. Draco pinched the zipper of the bag and slowly drug it down, revealing a long, thin sliver of Hermione Granger. He separated the bag to completely expose her naked ashen skin, dark curly hair, and half-open eyes. His eyes narrowed at the y-shaped stitches that vertically stretched along the upper pelvic region, up into the middle of the chest and fanning towards the shoulders.

"How did she die?" he whispered, leaning over closely to examine her lifeless face. His eyes drew to the crude stitchery across her forehead. Usually the markings were across the crown and hardly noticeable. This was not the case for Granger, and Draco felt a tad put out on the indelicate care her body received.

"The Yanks were baffled. So are we," Theroux said. "Her lungs dissolved."

"Pardon?" Blaise said and Draco's frown deepened, rubbing his fingers together at the agent who gave him Granger's autopsy results. He flipped it open and skimmed the information.

Sex: Female

Approximate Age: 21

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Height: 64 inches

Weight: 122lbs

"Drugs, perhaps?" Theroux offered.

Draco quirked a brow. "Drugs? Says here her blood was clean."

Blaise smirked and nudged his partner with an elbow. "Surprised, Drake?"

Draco ignored him and began to pace. "Cause of death is unknown. Aside from being a former smoker and a social drinker, she was relatively healthy. No illness or disease. Her lungs just…liquefied. How is that even possible?"

The mortician pulled a red-colored lolly out of his mouth and pointed it at him."It isn't."

"Mmm." He tossed the useless file aside and separated the folds of the bag even more, exposing her limbs. Blaise coughed uncomfortably and he tossed his partner a look.

"Problem?" asked Draco impatiently.

"It's just…*ahem* Hermione Granger…naked."

"She was quite the looker, wasn't she?" drawled Theroux as he took of his fedora to run finger-comb his thinning locks before putting it back on. "For a complete and utter sociopath."

"If you two don't mind," Draco snapped in revulsion. Yes, he was aware that he was staring at Hermione Granger naked. However, she was dead and blue and ghastly looking with the crudely done autopsy stitchings all over her body.

Draco started with her feet, carefully examining each toe. Her feet were slender and average-sized for a woman. About a five, perhaps. Seven in the U.S. The toenails were trimmed and unpainted, and he moved on to her ankles and carefully placed a gloved hand around her right one. "X-ray results of the autopsy report said she had broken her right ankle twice in the last ten years. Her left one when she was about eighteen."

"She was treated in London for it," the agent verified. "She was working at-"

"Platinum and Lace, I know." Draco counted the numerous scars up her right calve until he got to her knee. He zeroed in on a peculiar one along her outer calve, a few centimeters below her knee. He dragged four gloved fingers over what looked like a claw mark. What kind of animal left such a scar? A bloody bear?

"When the club closed for the night and she was coming out the back door, a Mister Jenkins tried to sexually assault her. The bouncer was still there and took care of the situation. Granger still got hurt, though. Not only that, but lost her job. She couldn't pay her rent. It was…" Theroux whistled, "a troubling time for her according to the Metro. In and out of jail for robbery. Food, mostly."

Draco thumbed the long, surgical scar on Hermione's left thigh. "What happened here?"

"Got shot a couple of years ago as far as the x-ray technician could tell. Blasted bullet blew apart her entire femur. It was held together by a metal plate and screws. Between you and me, the bint was no stranger to getting the living shite beat out of her. She's got a relatively new bullet wound in her shoulder. Morticians reckon it was a couple weeks pre-mortem. Definitely not the cause of death."

Draco would examine the shoulder in a moment. His eyes focused on the thatch of her hair between Hermione Granger's legs and inhaled uncomfortably, a blush warming his cheeks. "Was there evidence of sexual assault?"

"None whatsoever which is expected since I highly doubt this was murder. Not that it matters, but Granger hadn't a sexual encounter for months according to the report. Speaking of…I assume you read the report on Saad Daher. Poor sod, anyhow."

"Indeed." Draco had moved onto a peppering of jagged scars on Hermione's lower left abdomen. He opened up the file again and skimmed more of the information.

_Severed fallopian tube_.

"Something the matter, Drake?" Blaise leaned over his partner's shoulder to see what he was analyzing.

"Not particularly." He tilted his chin at the agent. "Got an explanation for this? Didn't come up in any of Granger's files I went over."

The agent grimaced. "Shrapnel as far as the Yanks could cipher. Even still had a bit of metal in her, too. Happened maybe five years ago. Surprised she didn't die of an infection. Left her infertile, though. Thank _God_."

Draco abandoned the scars on Hermione's stomach and studied her arms. Nicks and marks littered her lightly freckled skin on her right arm, but it was her left horrified him. He walked around the body and in front of the agent and showed Blaise the scar on her forearm. Blaise met Draco's gaze evenly. "Think she had a run in with an old friend?"

Draco thought he'd throw Agent Theroux a bone and lightly elaborated. "We've seen this before, my partner and I. Just not for a long, long time." He skimmed his thumb up and down the scar, feeling the grooves of the letters through his gloves. "I doubt it's even a year old."

"What do you reckon?" said Blaise in a quiet voice.

"Lestrange. Not that it matters now. Think she killed him as retribution? Severus said…" His voice trailed off, not wanting to divulge such details to the agent. Luckily, the agent hadn't noticed or didn't care.

His partner shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past her. Can't say I blame her either."

Draco licked his lips pensively and tore his gaze away from the hideous scar and skimmed her wrist and hand. He noticed a pale strip around her wrist and then asked the agent, "Do you have any of her belongings?"

The man shrugged. "Not much." The mortician left and came back about thirty seconds later with a zip-lock bag and handed it to Draco. Draco dumped the contents on the neighboring table and siphoned through them, taking note of a wallet, keys, tiny cross studs, and a bracelet. The bracelet was a silver chain with a single charm on it. He fingered the charm and brought it close to his eyes.

"Interesting," he murmured. "I've never seen this symbol before."

"Satanic hoo-ha, no doubt," Theroux remarked.

"Yet, she wore crucifix stud earrings." He gingerly put the bracelet back in the bag and delved into Granger's wallet, pulling out an identification card. He read the name and sighed in aggravation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Morgan Black, age twenty-nine…I mean, _thirty_. The report is dead wrong on that. _Twenty-one_, _my arse_." He scoffed. "Born in Manchester, New York and is an organ donor. _Black_? Really?"

"It makes sense," replied Blaise. "Jean _Potter_. Guinevere_ Evens_."

"Something the matter?" asked Theroux.

"No." Draco tossed the ID carelessly aside and quickly discovered the wallet was practically empty save a wad of lint. "Where's everything else?"

"Federal Bureau of Investigations took it for evidence. We're lucky enough to get our hands on that."

"What about a cellphone?"

"I'm sure the Yanks have that, too. Look, Detective Black, you got your request. You wanted Hermione Granger if she was ever taken in, and you got her."

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Me neither. I personally would have liked to lock her in six-by-six room with no windows for the rest of her bloody days. She's dead, though, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Put her to rest, Black. Despite there being absolutely no record of her birth, her original claim was that she was born here in Surrey. Bury her here or some rot. I don't care. I only bleedin' spent eight years on this case, and it means nothing now. Good day." The agent stalked out with the mortician not far behind.

Draco peeled off one examination glove and pulled out his cellphone from his pocket, dialing Severus. The man answered on the second ring.

"_Hello?"_

"We got her." It came out as a sigh.

"_Is she at the station now?"_

Draco licked his teeth. "No. She's here at the Borough morgue. She's dead."

There was a long pause before his godfather said, _"That is…unfortunate."_

"They found her in the States. It's baffling. She just _died_."

Severus was quiet for a moment. _"Can you make arrangements for me to see the body?"_

"Christ, Severus," he cursed. "For what purpose?"

Between the two hours it took for Severus to arrive, Draco received a call from his employer that Granger's body had been claimed, and the gentleman who'd be picking her up would arrive the next morning. Draco had questions, but they all went unanswered, so he waited for Severus to arrive at the morgue. When he did, he frowned over her zipped up body bag, only her head exposed.

"And there wasn't a decided cause of death?" he inquired.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Draco informed truthfully. He was already bending the rules by letting his godfather into the morgue to see the body of a criminal. Also, he didn't really want to get into the how's and why's of spontaneously dissolving lungs.

Severus hummed and then said, "Pity. I had wanted to speak with her again."

"She's a wanted murderer, Severus. You should be lucky she didn't slaughter you when having the chance."

"If that is what you believe. I, on the other hand, would have still chanced a chat."

"Yeah, all right." He thought back to his and Granger's meeting on Valentine's Day and how she nearly let him bleed to death at her flat before she did, indeed, help him for whatever reason unknown to him. But he then remembered the dark red smoke coming out of Redford. He shook his head and messaged his eyelids. That hadn't been real.

"Have you plans for the body?" Severus said.

"Someone is coming in tomorrow morning to claim it…her. Whoever it is," Draco said, "I'm going to ask some questions."

Severus stared at him evenly. "I had some myself. Draco, you told me of her history. I find it rather hard to believe Miss Granger committed most, if not, any of those crimes."

"As do I," Draco murmured to himself, peering down at the face of Hermione Granger. "As do I."

* * *

Once those pretty boy detectives left, the mortician meandered back to the room where Hermione Granger's body was. While he was maneuvering her into one of the chambers, he stopped to stare at her, a conflicted expression on his face.

"Sorry about that, kiddo," he said, his accent now American. "My brother's a dick."

With a gloved hand, he gingerly moved her curls out of the way so that they wouldn't get stuck in the zipper. "Between you and me, I think it's good you got out when you did. It wasn't pretty how you went, but it's a hell of a lot better than what's coming."

He sighed and hung his head. "This is stupid. You can't even hear me. Maybe one day if things change, I'll go back home and pay you a visit. We can have triple fudge sundaes and chat about the jerk-itude of my brothers."

Gabriel zipped up the body bag and slid Hermione into the chamber before closing the morgue for the night. He had an appointment back in America he needed to be to. A guy was in serious need of a beat down by the Incredible Hulk. The original, of course.

* * *

**Next Morning**

Vincent Valdini Junior was a handsome man with thick, wavy black hair. He was unshaved, though, and appeared to have not slept a wink in days if not weeks. He wore jeans and a leather jacket and small golden crucifix around his neck. He reminded Draco a lot of Potter but was a bit taller, and his brown eyes were dewy with unshed tears as he peered down at Granger's body. Draco had found a file on him. There was hardly anything on him with the exception of a ten-year old assault and battery charge that was dropped for some reason or another.

Draco cleared his throat, smirking at the man. "So what relation are you to Hermione Granger."

The man nodded and sniffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We dated a while back. Before she started making the wrong friends. God, what's it been? Ten years?"

Arching a brow, Draco drawled, "I find it odd an old boyfriend is claiming the body. After a decade and all. You two must've had contact between that time."

"She'd call once in a while. Spouting off crazy nonsense. Told her to get help. Told her to turn herself in." He shook his head, a tear running down his scruffy cheek. "She had no one, you know? Bloody no one to give a shite about her."

"Mmm." It was odd the man was falling apart over a woman he hadn't seen in ten years, supposedly. Of course he was lying. Draco reckoned Valdini and Granger were rather chummy since Valdini looked like his future hopes and dreams were well and truly destroyed. "Where did you two meet, may I ask?"

"Uh…" Valdini rubbed his eyes. "Platinum and Lace."

"You were a regular of hers?"

Valdini frowned, scratching the back of his neck. "I'd like her cremated. Who do I talk to about that?"

Surprised by the man's preference, Draco bristled and then said, "If that is what you think Hermione Granger would prefer."

"I know it."

Draco lowered his gaze to rest on Hermione, imagining her ashes and nothing else. Cremation was almost an entirely foreign concept for him. He was not raised with such postmortem ideas. It was only comely to bury witches and wizards. Burning them was…Burning them was entirely crude and archaic and a tip of the hat to the days of witch hunts.

"Tell me, Mister Valdini. How well did you know Hermione Granger?" Draco asked quietly, eyes still settled on the body.

The man shrugged sadly. "Better than most, I suppose. But there was still this," he waved a hand, "part of her I couldn't grasp. No one could. And I guess no one will. Um…I'll be back in two days for the remains. I'll bring an urn."

Valdini left.

It was the overflowing misery giving Valdini away. Cleary, he and Granger were intimate, and he cared for her terribly for some reason or another. He'd been aware of her criminal life and didn't care which made Draco question the man's sanity and self-esteem. Valdini wasn't a bad looking chap. Surely, he could've done loads better than Granger.

Draco stuck around at the morgue. He was there when the mortician, a different one from the day before, and his assistant put Granger on the rack and shoved her into the incinerator. He was there when her ashes were collected and shoveled into Valdini's urn. He watched as Valdini left with the urn but asked him offhandedly what he planned on doing with the ashes.

"I'm taking her back to Italy with me," Valdini said curtly.

When Draco returned to work in mid March after his knee healed up enough, he cleaned out all the files he was able to nab on Granger and shredded them, a sick feeling of disappointment souring in his stomach. Since she'd literally dropped him on Redford's property, he' wanted to find her. He requested files from other departments in England and soon files from all over the country and Interpol were littering his desk. The Americans even sent a few scraps. Draco had been so intent to find her _here_, he didn't even think she'd be anywhere else.

New _bloody _Jersey.

Why the woman decided to expand her criminalities was beyond him.

Draco tried to comfort himself with the fact that he wasn't the only officer of the law who was peeved by the Granger's abrupt death. The FBI, specifically and that Interpol agent.

Leaning over the shredder as it did its magic, Blaise nudged him and handed him a coffee. "Heard Granger got cremated. It's odd, isn't it? This whole thing. Almost seems…"

"Unfair," Draco finished, smiling grimly. "I get it. I really do that Granger struggled when she got here. I guess I just don't understand the rest." He stared at his Styrofoam cup before taking a drink of the tepid liquid. "Probably never will. Cheers."

* * *

**August 2010**

"You have something I acquire."

The shorter man dressed in black turned away from his client and pursed his lips and quirked a brow. "I'm in the middle of something."

Castiel looked from Crowley to the middle-aged Russian man. "It's important."

"That's fascinating. I'm busy."

The angel reached forward and touched the Russian's forehead. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed on the mushy ground in the middle of crossroads.

"I thought you no longer made deals," said Castiel.

"When the lovely ladies and gents are occupied elsewhere, the big boss comes and plays. Since you've rudely interrupted my business meeting with Mr. Aristov here, what can I do for you?"

"Your host's residence. There is something I need from it."

Crowley slit his eyes rubbed the corners of his mouth. "What exactly does my incredibly dashing meat possibly have that you want?"

"An urn. One came to his home last October."

Enlightened, the demon said, "Oh, that. Well, I rather like it on the mantle where I keep it."

"Crowley," Castiel warned.

Bemused, the demon said, "Fine then," and snapped his fingers and both of them were in a villa, sun shining brightly through the curtain-less windows.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked around the sitting room area, seeing the dark blue porcelain urn with golden swirls on the mantle above the fireplace. "What's that smell?"

"I thought you would recognize the aromatic scent of a nearly decomposed man." Crowley walked over to the mini bar and poured himself a glass of scotch and pointed to the urn. "It's right there."

"Who was the man?"

"The meat's son."

Castiel glared at him.

"I didn't kill him if that what you're thinking." He sipped at drink and sighed. "He killed himself ages ago. Tore up his rather expensive Egyptian cotton sheet and hung himself in the attic. The ungrateful brat. I haven't gotten around to getting rid of the body. Now take the bloody urn and bugger off."

Castiel grabbed the urn from the mantle, his fingers wrapping around the neck of it and noticed something there. It was a bracelet with an anti-possession charm. Absentmindedly, he touched the charm. Interesting. She did not require such jewelry yet had one with her when she died. "I cannot stop her if he she chooses to come here."

Crowley smiled. "Then she'll be in for a lovely surprise when seeing her boyfriend is stinking up the joint and her _papa _wearing Armani. Of course," he tilted his head pensively, "if I'm here, that is. I'll be sure to drop by if she does show her lovely face."

"You will not harm her."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Another hunter is exactly what I need."

"She isn't for you."

"You bet your feathered arse she's for me." Crowley drained his glass and poured himself another drink. "Just like the others."

Castiel stared at his feet and flew away, appearing at the Ruins of Waverley Abbey. He touched the aging stone and brought his lips relatively close to the urn. "In your world, you were born here. A strange place for a human birth. I believe it was not intentional."

The angel went inside the abbey and knelt on the damp grass and uncapped the urn, spreading the ashes in a long wide line. He set the urn aside and hovered his hand over the ashes, and they began to swirl and assemble, clumping together to shape a human skeleton. Castiel kept his palm hovering, cartilage and muscle growing from the bones. Organs appeared, the heart unmoving and the lungs deathly still. Veins and capillaries slithered around the female figure before layer after layer of skin was applied. Lush, curly brown hair sprouted from the scalp and fanned out like a dark halo around her head. Eyebrows and eyelashes grew as did her fingernails and toenails. The surgical scar that once plagued her leg was gone as was the distasteful MUDBLOOD scar on her left forearm. Not a nick or freckle on her body. She would be healthy and strong and unblemished.

Castiel scrutinized his work before putting his thumb and fingers on her forehead and stared up at the abbey's arch ceiling. A moment later, a ball of glowing light came through the window and hovered over the woman's chest before sinking and disappearing beneath the breastbone where he immediately put his hand. Beneath it, he felt the heart start to beat. He stood up and looked down at Hermione Granger, scanning her from head to toe. Another delicate wave of his fingers, he clothed her in what he'd seen the Winchesters wear: blue jeans, boots, and a pink plaid shirt. She was a girl, and Castiel knew in some cultures newborn females were swaddled in pink blankets.

"You need to stop," a man said from behind him. Castiel turned around and saw a pale man in his forties wearing a black suit.

"It is done, reaper," Castiel said and flew away. Once the echoing sound of wings left the abbey, Hermione's eyes flew open, and she gasped, tears streaming down her temples as she coughed and struggled for breath. She turned onto her side and went limp, focusing on inhaling through her nose and exhaling out her mouth.

Once she found a rhythm, she noticed she was lying on wet grass and the air was hot and sticky. She rolled onto her stomach, mouth agape and stared out in front of her and then strained her eyes to look upwards.

Ruins of Waverley Abbey.

What the hell?

Hermione got to her feet and wiped the grass of her bum, wondering how she got there. The last thing she remembered was being at her apartment in New Jersey and Lucifer…

She brought a hand to her ribcage.

She thought for sure she was dead, and her phone had rang. She remembered. Hermione went to search her pockets for her phone when she realized her jacket was gone, and she was wearing a pink plaid shirt, boy jeans, and boy boots. They all fit but not properly.

Hermione shifted a bit and frowned.

She wasn't wearing knickers or a bra.

She huffed and searched for her phone again, even though she knew it wasn't on her person. She then walked out of the abbey and towards Farnham. When she got there, she pickpocketed and dialed the person who called her last. Sam. The number was no longer in service.

"What?" She glowered at the phone and then something on the screen made her stomach twist in a knot.

_August 21, 2010._

"No," she whispered and scrolled through the calendar. "Impossible."

A podgy man strolled by and she desperately asked, "What's the date?"

Startled, he blinked. "Pardon?"

"The date? What is it?"

"The twenty-first, miss."

"Of what?"

He looked around, frowning. "August?"

"2010?"

"…yes…?"

Shaking her head, she shoved the phone into her pocket and mumbled a thank you before jogging away. To where, she wasn't sure, but she found herself hungry with no money and no identification.

She paused and a very vulnerable feeling overcame her. This was not the first something like this happened. Being alone, penniless, apprehensive, thirsty. Hungry.

God, was she starved!

Walking by a bakery, the smell of cinnamon and bread sunk into her nostrils and her belly growled. She hadn't money for a meal or a tube ticket to London which is where she needed to go for help. Walking down an alleyway, she clocked behind her and in front of her before thinking of Vincent's alley. She frowned and opened her eyes.

Why wasn't she Disapparating?

She tried again and nothing happened. There was a broken crate in front of her, and she flicked her fingers at it thinking, _"Reparo."_

Again, nothing happened.

Bringing her fingers close to her eyes, she glared at them. She then realized something. Other than she couldn't do magic. Her sight was perfect. Flawless.

As she had aged, her vision started tapering a bit. Nothing drastic enough to need corrective lenses but enough for her to notice she was getting old.

Another thing that hit her was that she didn't limp on the way here from the abbey. Over her jeans, she rubbed roughly over her thigh, expecting to feel the hardness of the metal plate holding her bone together and some degree of sensitivity. She felt nothing but the muscle under her skin. The MUDBLOOD scar was gone, too. Smooth, unblemished skin greeted her as she pulled up the sleeve of her hideous shirt.

Nibbling her lips, she discreetly lifted the hem and stared at her lower belly, poking at the flesh before covering up and dialing Patrick Lewis' number. It rang a few times before he answered.

" '_Lo?"_ he greeted groggily.

"Patrick, I need your help. I'm stuck in Surrey and-"

"_Who is this?"_

"It's Hermione, you daft pig. Something weird has…Hello? Patrick?"

Frustrated, she dialed his number again.

"_I don't know who this is but shove off!"_

The line went dead and she barked into the speaker even though no one was listening. "It's Hermione, you prat!"

She called him again, and he didn't answer, so she left a message on his phone. "Patrick, this _is_ Hermione. I don't know what you're problem is, but I need help. I'm stuck in Surrey. I don't know how I got here. The last thing I remember is well…It's complicated. Please call me back on this number and_ fast_."

Hermione waited ten minutes before she dialed Alexia's number. The woman answered and Hermione could hear a baby crying in the background.

"_Hello?"_

"Lexi, it's Hermione. Please, I need to…Hello? _Shit_!"

Putting a hand on the side of the building to her right, she rested her head on it, banging against it. She then turned around and rested her back her against the bricks and slid down. "I'm hungry," she muttered and dialed Junior's number, quickly discovering it was no longer in service. She called Papa and sighed in relief when he answered.

"Papa." She smiled. "It's Hermione."

"Hermione? Where are you, child? I've been worried."

"Surrey."

"Where in Surrey?"

"On some street next to The Wheatsheaf. Doesn't matter. Look, I need your help. No one…Ah!" She cupped her mouth to shorten her scream, her papa having appeared directly in front of her wearing a charcoal black designer suit.

His expression was enlightened and in a smooth English voice that did not belong to him, he said, "Something the matter, love?" His eyes flashed red.

"No!" Hermione mindlessly lunged at him but was flattened against the side of the building with a frivolous wave.

"You called a lot sooner than I thought you would. Lucky me." He grinned and then straightened his collar. "Like the outfit? It's not particularly new. Have had it for a little over a year, actually. It's my best one yet."

"Get out of him!" she seethed while struggling to break his hold.

"Hardly matters now. Bloke's dead."

"No." She shook her head, tears stung her eyes. If Papa was dead and Junior didn't answer his phone…

Fist clenching, she growled at him. "I'm going tear you apart."

"I don't doubt you." He strolled up to her, studying her from head to toe and stroking his chin. "But let's talk business first, shall we?"

"Shove it up your arse."

"Keep talking to me like that, love. It gets me all tingly inside. By the way, the name's Crowley, King of Hell, and I have a proposition for you. Definitely worth your while."

To be continued...

* * *

**A/N: **I was hesitant in adding Crowley in as Hermione's Papa because I feel in Season 10 of SPN, we may get some more info on him that will most definitely challenge this story. But ah well! I did it, so there.

Also, when leaving criticism, be sure it's constructive. :) You're just an ass, if you simply criticize.


	13. Chapter 13

_"Keep talking to me like that, love. It gets me all tingly inside. By the way, the name's Crowley, King of Hell, and I have a proposition for you. Definitely worth your while."_

Hermione stopped struggling at the 'King of Hell' part and stared at him, befuddled. "You're not Lucifer."

"And thank God for that." Crowley started to pace. "You see, love, Big Daddy is currently residing back in his cage and never to return topside. Somebody's got to take care of the babies and start moving towards the future. That's where you come in. You're resurrection will benefit me greatly."

"My resurrection? I never died."

"Oh, but you did, remember? You had a faceoff with the devil, and you lost. Come on, Hermione. It's been nearly a year, and you woke up in bloody Surrey all bright and shiny and new again."

"That's impossible."

"Eh, it happens. Just ask those damned Winchesters."

"You're lying," she accused threw clenched teeth, her heat thumping loudly. He had to be, right?

"You know I'm not. Now about that offer..."

Angrily, she curled her fingers and raked them down his face. He bared his teeth at her and snapped his fingers, and Hermione flew back into Wheatsheaf's side wall. She winced and slid down to her bum, throwing a vengeful glare at Crowley. "Exorcizamus te, cessa deci-"

_Growl!_

A damp gust of breath blew on her cheek, smelling rancid from fresh blood and the echo of rotten flesh. She stared out the corner of her eye but saw nothing. She stilled and felt matted fur brush across her neck and something that felt like a wet nose of a dog.

"Is that…?" A hellhound.

Crowley slipped his fingers into his breast pocket and pulled out a black silk handkerchief and dapped at his facial wounds that were already healing. "I suggest you don't move. It'd be a shame if she damaged that brand new packaging of yours. Not that it would hurt your soul, but I'm sure something can be arranged once you're dragged there in the next thirty seconds."

Steeling herself, Hermione asked, "What do you want?"

"A slice of paradise is all."

"What do you mean?"

Slower, he said, "The basic gist is that I'm looking to expand my enterprise, and you're going to help me with that."

"No."

The hellhound growled closer to Hermione, and her skin prickled. She dared not move. Her heart plummeted into her stomach when feeling a rough, wet tongue lap at her pulse.

"Careful now. She might take your word for it."

Choosing her words carefully, she breathlessly said, "I can't see how _I_ can help you."

Crowley sauntered towards her and touched her forehead and a sensation akin to be being anchored down in the eye of a tornado overcame her. She opened her eyes and found herself in the middle of a crossroads. The streets were dusty and unpaved. Off to the sides were yarrow flowers, key to summoning a crossroads demon. Crowley appeared beside her, and she climbed to her feet and coughed, noticing the sun was in a different position than she remembered. It looked to be close to mid-morning, and the air wasn't as muggy as it was just plain hot. "Where are we?" she asked.

"America, love, and this is where you will make your deliveries."

"Excuse me?"

"Hunt. You're good at it. Burn the bones of spirits. Exorcise my flock. Set fire to wendigoes. Kill the witches. When you come across shape-shifters, vampires, werewolves, djinns, you bring them here in this little town of Grapevine, Texas. Understood?"

Hermione scanned the area again and shook her head. There was more to it. If this Crowley was the King of Hell, he wanted something that he definitely shouldn't have and most likely would pose a problem for humankind. Like Lucifer and the apocalypse. "No. I won't. Drag me to hell for all I care."

"Oh, but you would once you got there, believe you me, darling. But since that barely ignites a fire in your knickers, let's make a deal."

"Why bargain for my soul when you can take it?" Hermione hissed.

"I drag your soul to hell, there's no guarantee I can keep it without a deal. It's all politics and fine print, love. Nevertheless…" He gave her a small smile. "There are little things better than fileting a sparkling hunter's soul such as yours, but I don't particularly _need_ it. I'd rather have your service. Deliver me what I requested, and I will bestow upon you _two_ favors."

"I don't want anything from you."

Crowley bobbed his head from side to side, smiling. "I beg to differ, love. First thing, my little natural witch, I'll give you your full magical abilities. I have feeling they didn't make the trip."

"I can live without."

"_Second_ thing, I'll release Vincent Valdini Junior's soul from hell."

Iciness spread through Hermione's insides, and she whispered, "He's not in hell."

"Oh, he is. He's being torn apart as we speak. All those demons he toted away are hacking at him, boiling him, torturing him into a new animal. You are aware that all demons were once human, I assume. I wonder how long dear Junior boy has left before he's crawling his way up topside to pay you a visit it someone else's meat."

Cupping her nose and mouth, Hermione sobbed and hugged her middle to keep from collapsing. "You're lying. You're just trying to trick me."

"Junior just couldn't take it anymore. He lost his brother. Lost you. Didn't help that I stabbed his father right in front of him, either. His soul belonged to hell the moment he kicked away the stool and his neck snapped. So…what it'll be?"

Hermione couldn't even speak. All she could do was weep. Why was this happening? Why had she come back from the dead to this?

"Going once. Going twice. Oh, kitten, that's just too ba-"

"I'll do it! I'll do it!" Hermione sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. "I have conditions, though."

"I'd be downright disappointed if you didn't. Tell Papa what his angel wants."

"Release Junior's soul_ now_, and I'll serve you."

"Doesn't work that way. Chores before allowance and all that."

"Then our deal would fall through if Junior became a demon while I fulfilled my part of the agreement."

Enlightened, he raised his brows. "Valid point. I'll put him on ice, how about that? I'll keep him out of the sandbox, so the mean kids won't bully him anymore. He'll still be in hell, he just won't be reaping all its lovely attributes."

"I want him _out_, Crowley!"

"Then earn it! Now pucker up. We have a deal to seal."

Crowley leaned forward and she put a hand up. "How long?"

"As long it takes. Don't you worry about lover boy. He'll be fine. Where were we?"

The moment the demon smashed their faces together, Hermione pushed him away and wiped at her mouth. Disgusting. He tasted of Scotch, cigars, and sulfur. She watched as he wiped the corners of his mouth, and he said, "Blast, no tongue. Ah well." He snapped his fingers and the sensation of being electrocuted jolted her body. She fell to the ground and vibrated, her eyeballs rolling into the back of her head. Once the magical awakening settled, she fell into unconsciousness and woke when something was poking at her face. She winced and peeled open one eyelid to see a boy about fifteen hovering over her.

"You all right?" he asked.

Every muscle burned, but yes. "I'm fine. I must've fainted."

The boy helped her up, and she saw a bicycle on its side in the brush a few feet away.

"You're lucky I found you," said the boy. "These back-roads don't get travelled often."

The boy's name was Tristan, and he was almost fifteen years old. He had biked the shortcut to his friend's house and saw her lying on the side of the road.

"He doesn't live far. I'm sure his mom will help you if you need it."

Hermione checked the cellphone she stole, and the entire device was in pieces from the magical energy she dispersed while unconscious. "I guess I'm in no position to turn down hospitality."

He whistled at the broken phone. "I got a phone if you want to use it, but my parents are really cracking down on my minutes. It'll be okay, though. Once I tell Dad that I helped a fine looking woman, he'll understand."

Hermione could've simply Apparated now, but she was terribly thirsty and hungry, so she chose to follow Tristan to his friend Joseph's house. Joseph's mum was almost naively helpful, so charitable and kind it left Hermione stunned. Mrs. Brewer gave her ice cold lemonade, a hardy roast beef sandwich with a side of potato chips, and some water to sip on. The woman's kindness reminded Hermione that these were the kind of people she was protecting when she went out and hunted the bad things creeping in the night.

"You've been so kind," Hermione said to Mrs. Brewer as she set her glass of water down on the coffee table. "If I may use your phone, too, I would most appreciate it."

Hermione called Ellen first and then Joanna. Both phones were no longer in service, and she had no other way to get ahold of them. That only left one other person who could help her, but he very well may not. She dialed one of Bobby's many landlines and waited for him to answer.

"Who is this?" he said gruffly.

"Bobby, it's Hermione Granger. I know we haven't spoken in sometime, but I could use some help. Please."

"I hunt witches. I don't help them," he said coldly, but he didn't hang up which meant he was willing to hear her out. This civilian home was hardly the place to explain everything. Or parts of everything to Singer.

"I'm going to stop by shortly. Please, if you could help me, I will sure appreciate it."

Mrs. Brewer was hesitant in letting her walk out the door, but Hermione assured the woman that she could make it to town where a nearby friend could pick her up. Waving goodbye, Hermione jogged to the end of the street, looked around to make sure not anyone in the neighborhood was around before she Apparated to Bobby's yard.

Hermione knocked on the door and waited for the old grump to answer. When it opened, Bobby glared at her across the threshold but stepped aside to let her in. The moment he closed the door behind her, he picked up a bucket and tossed holy water on her. She sputtered and sighed. "I'm not possessed."

He unsheathed a silver knife from his pocket and she added, "Come any closer with that thing, and I'll break your nose. I'm not a shifter. It's just me and I have some questions and a favor to ask."

Bobby reluctantly put away the knife. "I got some questions myself."

Hermione twisted hair while she followed Bobby into his office area, holy water droplets dripping onto the wooden floor. He poured himself a drink and said, "Is there a reason you couldn't give Sam peace of mind? Boy called you nonstop for months. Go back to England, did you? Hide away from apocalypse?"

"The devil killed me."

Bobby, who was about to take sip of drink, stilled. A few seconds ticked by and then he nodded his head and drank. After swallowing, he said, "Never got wind of your death, but all right. Probably a good thing, too. With Sam and everything."

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she remembered what the devil had told her about Sam. About Sam being Lucifer's true vessel. "How is Sam?"

Bobby took off his ball cap and finger-combed his hair. "I reckon I oughta tell you what happened."

The actual apocalypse never happened. Hermione had been alive when Lucifer was set free, but she wasn't around for the Four Horsemen, when Ellen and Joanna died, to meet Sam and Dean's half-brother, or when the archangel Michael and Lucifer both fell into the cage. Dean had been the vessel of Michael, and Sam was the true vessel to Lucifer. The devil hadn't lied. Sam said yes for the sole intent of throwing both of them back into the cage. Adam, the half-brother, became the vessel of Michael. Both boys were still there while Dean retired to Indiana and was living a domestic live with a woman and her son.

"So…" Hermione hugged herself. "Sam's still there? You aren't going try and get him out? Or his brother? Dean's just letting that happen?"

"I'm done talking about those boys and what happened this past year. It was rough, all right?" he hissed. "So you need a favor."

Hermione wanted to argue, but she knew Bobby wasn't going to move on this. "I need an ID, a car, and some weapons. Not a lot. A gun and a knife maybe. If you could spare a fifty, that'd be great, too," she said.

"Well, I'll see what I can rummage up," he grumbled and sat down in his chair in front of his computer. "Might as well make yourself useful. There's a selkie in the back that needs to be buried. Shovels are in the shed."

"Those are only native to the UK."

"Tell it that when it's six feet under, will you?"

As Bobby said, the shovels were in the shed and the selkie's body was between two rusted but intact vehicles. The corpse was partially wrapped in a dirty blue tarp, revealing the young woman's flaming red hair. Hermione had hunted a few of these back home and had never come across one here in the States. Shoving the blade of the shovel into the dirt, she wondered how the thing travelled this far inland when they were primarily coastal creatures.

The charm on her bracelet dangled and hit the skin of her wrist. She paused and stared at it, having not noticed until now that it was exactly where it had been when she died and sincerely doubting it made the trip of her death. Whatever brought her back was kind enough to ensure she had the piece of jewelry on her. Not that she needed it, but keeping it there was exceptionally considerate.

The belief that Crowley had been the one to bring her back was fading.

Forty-five minutes later, she rolled the selkie into the hole and it landed with a solid _thump_. Burying it took another ten minutes and when she was done, she was filthy. She put the shovel back in the shed and treaded back into Bobby's house through the kitchen. She opened the fridge and shouted, "I'm stealing a beer!"

"Better not!"

There were several brands of brews on main and side shelves. Bobby, ever the sweetie, always stocked his friends' favorites. Hermione snagged a Del Sol and popped the cap and guzzled. She wasn't a fan of American brew, but this would have to do for now.

A knock on the front door had her looking in that direction, and she hung back in the kitchen while Bobby glowered at her when he treaded by to see who was bothering him now. He unlocked the door and cursed. "Boy, what are you doing here early? Wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning."

"Finished the hunt sooner than expected. Thought I'd drop by and see if you had a beer for me and a shower."

_It was Sam! But Bobby had said…_

Hermione set the bottle down on the table and slowly crept towards the entry and poked her head around the corner and saw Sam give Bobby a confused stare and brushed by him. He instantly caught her gaze and blinked in surprise, his bluish-green eyes then narrowing in suspicion.

"Hermione," he said evenly.

"She stopped by for a couple of favors," explained Bobby. "She'll be on her way soon."

Sam smiled tightly, and she couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something _off_ about him. He looked like Sam, and sounded like Sam. Maybe it was the way he was carrying himself. His presence felt differently, that was for sure. When she saw him time he gave her the bracelet, the dark energy rolling off him was easy to sense. When she saw him in Pennsylvania, there was the ever so slightest hint of it. It was still kind of there, but something was missing.

"And here I thought Lucifer killed you," Sam said.

"You knew?" Bobby asked. "How come you didn't say anything?"

"I didn't know until _he_ let me know. I didn't really think about it after."

Bobby nodded as if he understood and awkwardly said, "I'll let you two catch up then." He disappeared back in the den, and Hermione went back into the kitchen and braced herself against the sink before turning to face Sam. He was stripping off his plaid garment, leaving him in a dark red, v-cut shirt. He draped the article of clothing on the back of a dining chair. His arms were more defined than the last time she saw him, and his face just as angular. Not from hunger and stress but from healthy eating and good active habits.

"You need a shower," he said.

"Yeah, um...Bobby told me that you were in hell."

"For, like, a minute." He shrugged. "Or a day."

"And you got out."

"Maybe you could tell me what brought you back. If I could get a lead on who did the same for me. At first I thought it was Cass, but now I'm not sure."

"Castiel," Hermione whispered and bit her lip. "I don't think so. At least not for me. I…"

"What?"

Hermione sighed and thought that maybe Crowley brought her back but she wasn't sure. She'd be a fool to tell Sam that she made a deal with the King of Hell. He'd blab to Bobby, and they'd both try and get her out of it. As long as that bastard Crowley had Junior's soul, though, she didn't want out. It was dirty, and she felt filthy for agreeing to such a thing, but she refused to let her dear friend suffer any longer and become the monster he once hunted.

"Nothing. It's strange." She pressed her lips together and smiled. "I woke up at the Ruins of Waverly Abbey. I was born there. An interesting tale for another time, I guess."

"I woke up in Stull Cemetery in Kansas. I was not born _there_."

"You died there, though. Sort of."

He slit his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. "How was heaven?"

"Is that an opening to a pickup line? Now is not the time, Sam."

"No. I really mean it. How was it?"

"I…" She hadn't even thought about where she'd been all this time. Could she have been in heaven? She didn't remember.

Bloody hell, was there actually a heaven?

"Don't remember," Sam finished, nodding as if he understood. "You're lucky. It's nothing like you think. Dean called it Memorex. You pick your favorite memory and you relive it for eternity. Alone, ultimately."

"Oh," she said, unable to think of something else to say. If she'd been in heaven, what had hers looked like? Normandy? Her childhood home? That time in Reno? Hogwarts, even? Better yet, the Gryffindor Common Room? Those places weren't bad to spend forever in. Being there alone, though, would be boring.

Sam fished a beer out of the fridge and said, "I'm leaving in a couple of hours to get to North Platte. I have to meet up with some people tomorrow morning in Denver. You should come with me. Last time we talked, you offered to hunt with me. Is that offer still solid?"

"It's not, I'm sorry," Hermione said. There was no way she could hunt with Sam now. Not if she had to deliver half her load to Crowley.

"There's a hunt, and I could use the help. There's going to be a lot of space needed covering. The job's in Disneyland."

"Seriously?"

"Four little girls between the ages of five and ten were reported missing within the last month. All have blonde hair and blue eyes."

"That's terrible, but are you sure it's our kind of thing?"

"An older brother of one of the girls swears up and down he saw The Little Mermaid take his sister and jump into River of America. Neither of them surfaced. Melony Jarvis who was scheduled to play Ariel that day had an alibi. She was chatting with Princess Jasmine over bottles of water and rice cakes."

"Only he saw? It's bloody Disneyland. Someone else had to have seen something."

"It was at night and probably crowded, but think about it. The girl was five and with a princess. She probably didn't think to scream until it was too late."

Hermione sat down in the dining chair closest to her. "Shape-shifter, perhaps."

"Sounds like."

She scratched at Bobby's table. If she went with Sam and caught the shifter first, then she could Disapparate out of California to Grapevien and make her first delivery to Crowley. She'd tell Sam she killed it and simply got rid of the body.

Then again…

What was this shifter doing with the little girls?

Shape-shifters were more human than their werewolf cousins. They had human wants, needs, and desires. Money, sex, love, control. And sometimes those wants were just as twisted as a common pedophile.

Crowley hadn't said he wanted the monsters alive.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. "Look. It's sick, I know."

"It's not that." She scratched behind her ear, grime lodging underneath her fingernails. Gross! "I'll help you with this one."

* * *

_Hours later..._

Eyes heavy, Hermione yawned and squinted at the sign off to the side of the road. "The turn off is coming up."

"I'm going to drive through the night," Sam said.

She looked at the clock on the radio, and it read eleven. It wasn't terribly late, but driving through the night was suicidal. Of course she'd done it before, but coffee and Dr. Pepper helped her through the journey. Sam had a half-empty bottle of water in the drink holder.

"That's not safe. You'll fall asleep at the wheel."

He glanced at her and said evenly, "I won't. Go to sleep. We'll be in Denver before you know it."

Too exhausted to argue, she shifted in her seat and pulled the lever to lean back. Her eyes fluttered closed and she whispered, "Don't crash."

When she woke up, it was to the car door slamming shut. She startled awake and gingerly sat up, pulling on the lever of the seat. She looked around and saw Sam had stopped to a gas station, and the morning light was barely peaking over the horizon. From the looks of the area, she guessed they'd made it to Denver in one piece.

Sam filled the tank up with gas and then went inside, a few minutes later coming out with two Styrofoam cups and two peaches. He got inside the car and handed her one of each, saying, "We're meeting up with people in a few hours for breakfast. How hungry are you?"

"The peach is fine. I can wait" She sipped at the coffee and grimaced. "The coffee is bearable."

"Wasn't sure how you took it."

"Black is fine, thanks."

A spark ignited in his eyes. "It's not waffles and whipped cream."

She smiled tiredly and chuckled. "I'll make do. Anyway, these people, they're hunters?"

"Yeah. They're like family. They _are_ family."

"Will Dean be there? Bobby said he's done."

"And he is for now." Sam shrugged and started the car. "But the truth is, there's only way out of this life. He'll come back in. Don't know when, and I'm not sure how. It will happen, though. Hunting. You live by it, you die by it. Sometimes more than once. I know that now. Besides, Dean doesn't know I'm topside."

"_Excuse me?!_"

"Hey, I'm just trying to be a good brother and let him live in domestic bliss for as long as possible."

"Sam." She shook her head and glared at him. "I may not know Dean as well as you, but I doubt he's living blissfully."

"I don't know. Lisa's kind of hot _and_ teaches yoga. It can't be all bad."

Hermione frowned, thinking that was a very un-Sam thing to say. "I'm talking about how awful he must feel thinking his brother's in hell."

Sam coughed uncomfortably and merged onto the road. "He's fine. I check on him once in a while. Make sure nothing's found him and eaten him."

"Whatever." She huffed. "Do you think we could stop, so I can buy some clothes? Whoever dressed me when I came back didn't do a spectacular job."

They stopped by a thrift store near the Biggerson's they were supposed to meet Sam's family. With the fifty dollars Bobby leant her, she was able to buy two pairs of jeans and four shirts. As for boots, Sam took her to a Dick's Sporting Goods and bought them for her with a credit card that did not have his name on it. However, there were still things that she needed that she didn't feel comfortable telling Sam, but he was the one with money and she was out.

"I need under garments," she admitted once they pulled out of Dick's parking lot.

He shot a perplexed, yet intrigued glance at her. "Are you not wearing any?"

Pink stained her cheeks. "No."

Wal-Mart was evil, Hermione was sure of it. Nevertheless, when Sam gladly and lecherously volunteered to take her to a Victoria's Secret, she opted for something more appropriate. Sure, she didn't mind sifting through the discount bins for some cotton knickers and supportive bras, but Sam was with her and she had a feeling he wouldn't leave her alone if she went in.

A package of Rapunzel-themed cotton panties were purchased. Hermione had seen them on the rack and nearly squealed. She'd kill anyone before admitting her love for Disney princesses and once things settled down, she was going to go see the movie. Which reminded her, she needed to see _The Princess and the Frog_, too. It was close to coming out before she died.

After changing in the bathroom of the Biggerson's and tying and knotting her hair into a tight bun, Hermione took a seat next to Sam in the large booth where he rested one long arm behind her head. "They'll be here any minute. I didn't tell them you're a witch. You should probably keep that to yourself."

"Yes, because I broadcast that wherever I go," she dryly replied and he laughed.

"Your freckles are gone." He brushed the bridge of her nose with a finger. "Think we should hit the beach after the hunt?"

"Beach? I'm in," a deep but feminine voice piped up. It belonged to a woman about Hermione's height and age, but she appeared more solid and muscular. She had shoulder length black hair, and sharp but attractive features. The woman slid into the booth and scooted until she was next to Sam. "I'm Gwen Campbell. You must be Hermione. Sam called and told us you're joining us in California. I guess we could use the woman power."

"This is my cousin," Sam informed.

"It's nice to meet you," Hermione said politely, earning a smile from Gwen.

"Wow, Sam, where'd you find _her_?"

"We met on a case a few years back. Walker mistook her for a witch and tried to set her on fire. Dean and I saved her."

Hermione rolled her eyes and lied, "I would've been fine with a few extra minutes."

The next person to arrive was Christian and Mark Campbell, both relatively handsome men in their early thirties. Christian eyed her distrustfully and said, "Samuel's not going to like this." As for Mark, he hadn't even acknowledged her or said a word.

"Samuel?" Hermione turned to look at Sam.

"My grandfather," he explained. "My mom named me after him."

"You have a grandfather who still hunts?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"I'll explain everything after breakfast," he said.

A few minutes later, a man in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, came over to the booth. He was bald and had brown eyes that treated her the same as Christian had. He hesitantly slid in next to Mark and said, "Sam, why don't we go talk outside for a second?"

"You have something to say about me, say it to my face," Hermione edgily demanded.

"I like her," Gwen snickered.

"She's a hunter, Samuel," Sam said lazily. "She's in the life, and she's good."

"And she's pretty," Christian smarmily added, sneering at Sam. "Maybe I should bring Arlene along, too."

"Arlene doesn't hunt, and her aim sucks ass," Sam replied coldly.

Judging by the gold band on Christian's left hand, Hermione assumed Arlene was his wife. He grabbed his napkin-wrapped utensils like he was going to use them on Sam somehow from across the table but Samuel stepped in. "All right, that's enough. Look…Granger, is it? I'm sure you're a decent enough hunter, but this is a family unit."

"Sam invited me," Hermione reminded hotly, leaning forward and glowering. "And it seems to me you'll need help. Disneyland is a lot of ground to cover."

Much to her dismay, Sam put a massive hand on her back and started rubbing up and down. She almost elbowed him in the gut but stopped herself when he said, "I trust her with my life. And don't get me wrong, Samuel. I've known her longer than I've known any of you."

To be continued…

* * *

**A/N**: Boo! No Draco? Boo! :P

I cleaned up the previous chapter a little bit. Not enough to change any of the content but so that it was a smoother read, just an fyi.

Thank you readers, reviewers, followers, etc.

**Please Read and Review!** Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**"Look at me. I came back from the furnace without any of my old scars, right? You know, bullet wounds, knife cuts. None of the off-Angled fingers from all the breaks.**

**I mean, my hide is as smooth as a baby's bottom. Which leads me to conclude. Sadly...That my virginity is intact."- Dean Winchester**

**"Please. Dean, maybe angels can pull you out of hell, but no one could do that." - Sam Winchester**

**(4x05: Monster Movie)**

* * *

After an incredibly tense breakfast consisting of oatmeal, glares and curious glances directed at her, Hermione and Sam got on I-70 and started out of Denver. Not long into the ride, Sam vacantly apologized for his family's behavior but she shouldn't have expected anything less.

"I didn't, Sam. I'm well aware hunters aren't accepting or trusting, especially to outsiders. But feeding them lies about how you trust me with your life was a bit overkill."

"I do trust you, Hermione." He stared at her questioningly. "You're not going to shoot me in the back the moment I turn it, are you?"

Shrugging, Hermione sighed and rolled down the window a little to let some air circulate inside the car. The air-conditioning was working fine, but Sam had it on low so the vehicle wouldn't overheat. When they reached Utah and went south on I-15, it was just going to get hotter.

"Maybe I just feel bad because I don't trust you with my life," she responded honestly. "We honestly don't know each other that way."

"Outside of the biblical sense. Doesn't matter, I don't peg you the type to smother me in my sleep."

"Speaking of, Sam, you haven't slept at all. You're running on three coffees and a Lite and Fit Breakfast Special. Why don't you pull over and let me drive?"

"I trust you'd save my ass in a hunt. I _don't_ trust you with my car. They drive on the wrong side of the road where you come from. What if you get confused?

Hermione glared out her window and five minutes later said, "You're family thinks we're sleeping together."

"I guess rubbing your back at the table gave it away, huh?" He grinned teasingly.

"We're not, Sam. We had our chance and blew it."

"I blew it." He fished a pair of sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on. "I traded a cow for magic beans."

She punched him in the leg. "Mooooo!"

He cackled and pressed his foot on the gas, weaving in and out of traffic.

When they left Utah and breached the northern west tip of Arizona, the sun had gone down, leaving a light blue and pinkish tint on the horizon. Already Hermione could hear the alluring sounds of slot-machines, and the fact that she had no money laid heavy in her mind. She couldn't depend on Sam to keep feeding her and clothing her. Plus, the price of a Disneyland ticket was going to be killer.

"We should stop and rest in Vegas."

"If you're tired, just go to sleep."

"Sam," she said exasperatedly. "I'm not sleeping in the car again. I want a bed. A shower. I'm not going to be any use on the hunt if I can fall over from someone sneezing on me. I bet your family is going to stop there, too. Or even Mesquite."

"Fine, we'll stop in Vegas. We should probably eat, anyway."

"I also need money."

He smirked at her inquisitively. "You hustle?"

"I count," she admitted.

Sam nodded like he was impressed. "I can count, too. So can Dean. We never chanced it in a casino. You get caught, you get blacklisted. We can't afford to have our faces plastered anywhere since we're dead. We want to stay that way."

"You only get caught if you get greedy," Hermione replied.

They ended up bypassing Vegas and stopping in Primm. By then, there was a solid knot at the base of Hermione's spine, and she had to ooze out of the car instead of climb out like a respectable human being. Sam had stopped at Buffalo Bill's, and Hermione supposed the casino would be fine. She didn't need a lot of money, just enough to get her through the hunt. She could budget with five-hundred.

"Money first or room first?" asked Sam. "I'm thinking food first."

"If you could spare a twenty, I'll pay you back in a couple of hours. I need to buy my way in."

"Right." He pulled out his wallet and handed her a folded up twenty. "I'll get us a room and scrounge up some food."

As much as she preferred to have her own room, they were adults and this trip was not about luxury and comfort. It was close to midnight, she was running on fumes, and they had to be up early in the morning to reach Anaheim before Disneyland opened. While in Denver, everyone agreed that they'd each visit the employment office and try to get a job, with the exception of Sam and Samuel. The shifter was most likely a part of the staff. If any of them could get an in and sift through the hundreds of employees, it could help. Thankfully Sam had thought ahead and instructed Bobby to forge some fake paperwork for Hermione the previous night back in Sioux Falls.

Inside the casino, Hermione won a total of eight hundred dollars and purposely lost 250 of that. During her losing streak, Sam had found her and whispered in her ear what room they were staying in and then left. When she secured her $550, she cashed in and found the room and knocked on the door. A freshly showered Sam answered with only a towel wrapped around his waist. With much difficulty, she kept her eyes on his face and handed him a twenty and then brushed by him and into the room, frowning at the one king-size bed.

"That's nice of you," Sam drawled and closed the door behind her. "I hadn't even shown you the goods yet."

She turned to face him and then toed off her boots. "We are _not_ having sex. You are going to get dressed, and we are going to go to sleep. You will keep yourself on your side, and I will do the same."

"If you say so."He yanked off his towel and padded over to the edge of the bed where his duffle bag was, taking his time to find a pair of boxers and two plain white t-shirts. He tossed her one. "I know you don't have anything to sleep in."

She changed in the bathroom and came to see Sam on his laptop at the table, reminding her she needed to buy one once she had the time and the resources. "Food's in the fridge," he said.

She was exhausted, but she needed to eat, so she opened up the mini fridge and pulled out a Denny's to-go box. Inside were a grilled chicken salad and a dinner roll with a side of lite dressing. Not something she would have chosen after a miniscule breakfast of oatmeal and twelve hours on the road, but the meal was a meal. She scarfed it down and pulled down the covers of the bed on the side closest to the door. Once she was curled up and about to pass out, she mumbled at Sam, "Go to sleep."

He looked like he was about to say something but didn't. Instead, he closed the computer and turned off the lamp and climbed into bed. When she awoke, it was to the smell of brewing coffee, and Sam was not on his side of the bed. She groggily turned over and saw the bathroom light on and the door open. He was hovering over the coffee machine and pouring some into a Styrofoam cup.

"Did I wake you?" he called.

"Yes."

"Good. We have to go. Drink this." He shuffled over to her with the cup, and she took it from him, sipping the scalding liquid. It was marginally better than that gas station coffee in Denver.

After finishing her drink, she scrambled out of bed, showered, and dressed. Within an hour, they were back on the road. They stopped for a fast-food breakfast in Barstow, and then didn't stop until they got to Anaheim. Since it was still quite early, having left Primm a little after five, they used the time to check into a hotel and get Hermione a respectable outfit for when she showed up at the employment office at Disneyland. She settled on a pair of black trousers and a light pink blouse. Her hair was up and she was ready to bluff her way through an interview if she got that far. She honestly hoped she didn't get a job offer, though. Working in a park like Disneyland was probably a lot like hell.

Hermione _was_ offered a job after being redirected over to Casting. Mark was also offered a job, too, but in one of the gift shops. As for the others, they had to buy a one week pass while Sam and Samuel scoured the park under the pretense of being a part of the FBI. Funnily enough, she never saw any of them. Though Disneyland wasn't as large as Disney World, she never came across the other hunters. But that probably had more to do with her schedule than theirs. Her new employers told her she needed to be at a certain location and she better damned well be there five minutes early with a smile on her face.

All in all, it did take a full week to track down and pinpoint the shape-shifter, and she was the one to figure out who it was. Before she called Sam, she called Crowley and told him she'd be in Grapevine with the package in the thirty minutes. Five minutes before she was to be arriving in Texas, she was in an unused part of a tunnel under the manmade body of water under Sleeping Beauty's Castle, her yellow gloved fingers choking the life out of Cinderella. Some ten feet away, a six year old girl with blonde curls and blue eyes stared in fascinated horror.

Hermione wanted to stab the shape-shifter. She had a silver knife strapped to her garter belt aching to be plunged into the heart of this _thing_. There were decomposing bodies of little girl's down here. Despite all her hatred and disgust for this monster, her thoughts were drawn back to Junior.

Seething, she said, "I hope he tortures you," and then lowered her hands to grip the shifter's shoulders, Disapparating to the middle of the crossroads in Grapevine. The shifter fell onto the dirt and screamed, looking around in shock.

"How did you do that?"

Two men dressed in black appeared and both took an arm of the shifter. Hermione could feel the dark energy from them and knew they were demons. One of them drawled, "Crowley thanks you for your service, princess." The other then took out a cellphone from his leather jacket and tossed it to her.

"He said to use that whenever you need to make a delivery."

The two demons and the shifter disappeared, and Hermione needed to gather her bearings before Apparating back to the tunnel. God, that shifter was strong. Hermione rubbed gingerly over her ribcage before Disapparating. It had kicked her good there some twenty minutes ago.

The little girl was still in the tunnel but curled up into a ball, sobbing hysterically. When she noticed Hermione, she threw herself at her. Hermione carried her out of the tunnel and didn't have to walk far before running into two security officers. There were probably others rummaging through the park looking for her. Before the girl was handed off to the officers, she whispered in Hermione's ear, "I saw you disappear, but I won't tell anybody. I promise."

Hermione called Sam and told him that the shape-shifter was taken care of, lying and saying that she killed it and hid the corpse away in the tunnel where it wouldn't be found for a long time. He was in Mickey's Toontown with Samuel. She told him she was done and wasn't going to wait for him to find her.

"I'll see you back at the room," she yawned.

She fetched her belongings from her employee's locker and marched back into the park found a place where no one would notice her Disapparating. The moment she did, she was back in the hotel room using the dresser to keep her from falling over from sleep-depravation.

Sam walked in when she was toeing off her character shoes. He paused and simply stood there staring at her, mouth agape. "What?" she grumbled when pulling off her wig and dropping it to the floor. She yanked at the pins holding her hair up and let out a sigh of relief when feeling the curly tresses fall, her headache gone almost instantly. When she looked back at Sam, he was shirtless and he was fiddling with his belt like he couldn't get it off fast enough. He mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like _Dean would be so jealous_.

"You've got to be joking! There is _no _way-eeeeek!"

Sam threw her over his shoulder and then turned, dropping her on the bed. She bounced and groaned, her ribs aching. He hesitated at the sound of pain and asked, "Are you hurt?"

"My ribs are bit bruised, but I'm fine."

"Good," he said curtly and climbed over her.

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a small smile before scooting further up the bed, so her head rested on a pillow. He followed her, and she placed her gloved hands on his bare shoulders, squeezing them and then cupping his face. Her thumb traced his bottom lip, and he surprised her by latching his teeth onto the tip of the material. Smoothly, she slid her arm out of the glove and sleepily asked, "Are you my beast?"

"Ha," he chuckled throatily and grabbed the glove out of his mouth, tossing it aside.

Valentine's Day, the year before, Junior had left her flat in London because she hadn't loved him and because he thought there was a man waiting for her in the States. As she laid beneath Sam, she wondered if Junior hadn't been wrong. Was there a part deep down inside her that wanted Sam? Really wanted him? She didn't believe in casual intercourse, yet this would be her third time with him. They were hardly even hunting partners, and yet, she broke her own rule with him. What was it about Sam? Probably nothing but her own weakness. He was plenty handsome, but he certainly was not the prettiest boy ever.

Sam grinned down at her, flashing his dimples.

But very close, mind you.

He made her feel things, she supposed. Things she hadn't felt in a while. However, like with Junior, she did not love him. It probably wouldn't be hard to if she put forth some effort. He wasn't the most unlovable creature she'd ever come across.

Choosing to deepen her feelings for Sam would be hardly convenient at this time. She had Junior's soul to think about and monsters to hunt and deliver. Sam had his family and with the exception of Gwen, they all hated her.

"You know," Sam drawled, his lips brushing lightly against hers as he spoke, "you're thinking too hard. And very loudly."

"It's a side effect from being around you too long."

He chuckled and kissed her fully on the lips and pulled away slightly, settling his weight on his elbows. The kiss gave her tingles and butterflies and whatnot, sensations she had felt before with someone else long ago. But it hadn't been right then, either. Nevertheless, if she was going to do this with Sam, it needed to have some degree of propriety.

"Perhaps," she started and nipped his chin, "we can try again. For real this time."

"What are you talking about?"

"You clearly wanted something more between us over a year ago. Do you still? Or is it just sex with you?"

Sam moved back on his knees and she sat up. He blew out a puff of air and shrugged. "I'm not going to lie, I wanted you then. I want you now, but having a relationship would only complicate things. Hold us both down. Make us vulnerable. It was difficult enough hunting with my brother, and I didn't even like him most the time. I know I hunt better without him."

Frowning, she commented, "Yet you hunt with your family. You asked me to go with you."

"Samuel sniffed this hunt out. He asked me along for backup. I asked you because you were there at Bobby's and a fine hunter. Plus, I wanted to sleep with you again. You can't tell me you don't want it, too."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Did she just hear him correctly?

"I do want you, Sam," she admitted and crudely added with an eye roll, "You're a fine shag. But I'm not promiscuous. I try to avoid one night stands." She looked down at her lap, the pretty yellow material covering her legs. "In fact, I try to avoid any kind of relationship, but if this is going to be a reoccurring thing, I have to have ground rules."

"I hate ground rules."

"Do you want this?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips turning downwards. It wasn't so much a pensive expression but a displeased one. "Things are different from when when we last talked and even more so than that Christmas. I'm different. I stand by what I said. We'll only hold each other back."

"Then get off me."

"Unless," Sam said icily, his pointer finger curled into a hook a rubbing her jawline with it. "You stay."

"Stay," she repeated uneasily. "Like stay with _you_ and your family?"

"I won't always be with them. You're a lot younger than Samuel, therefore, a lot more useful. I don't trust Christian or Mark to have my back. As for Gwen, Samuel's making her rusty by excluding her from most hunts. Though I prefer to do the job alone, it may be beneficial at times to have a partner."

Hunting with Sam would put a strain on her deal with Crowley. She was able to slip one shape-shifter under his nose, but doing it repeatedly would be damned near impossible. And like him, she preferred to hunt alone.

It wasn't going to work, and she was confusing herself like always. She liked Sam and wanted him, but she couldn't have something proper with him. He knew that and was humoring her by requesting she join him on the road.

Having made a decision, she caressed his face and winced. "I can't. We're better by ourselves. You're right."

"I know," he said dispassionately. "So how do you want this? Personally, I want the dress on for a least the first two rounds. During at least one of those, I want you reading out of a book."

"No, Sam. When I said I can't…mmph!"

Sam had interwoven his fingers into her curls and used them as leverage in crushing her lips to his.

She absolutely despised this habit of his, catching her off guard by getting in her space and doing things that both scandalized and aroused her. What she hated more, though, was her utter lack of will power when it came to him. He'd simply kiss her or touch her the right way, and she was putty in his large hands. Perhaps he was part incubus. Dean was probably suffered the same anomaly, as well. They weren't particularly likeable men and cared for each other more than they liked anybody else in the entire world. All they had going for them were pretty faces and nice bums.

That car of Dean's wasn't too bad either.

So, yes, they both had to be half-siren or half-incubus.

She'd bet her new knickers it was their father who passed down that gene. That rough-faced, dimple-cheeked, sexist Yankee pig!

Hermione wrenched her face away and groaned loudly and lamentably up at the ceiling when he latched onto the space below her ear. "Saaaaaaam!"

"Yes?" he purred into her skin.

She yanked his hands out of her hair and put them over her breasts, and his mouth moved to her lips again before putting them on her collarbone while he messaged her through the bodice of the dress. "You make me very angry," she hissed.

"Good." He bunched up the skirt of her dress, exposing her stocking-clad legs. He lifted one of them up and rested it on his shoulder ran his fingers down the length of it, not hesitating to touch her over her panties. He nipped at her ankle and laughed. "They had these in your size?"

Biting her lip, she bucked against his finger. "Mmmhmm."

When two digits moved aside the cottony material and found Hermione's secret place, she stilled and so did Sam.

"Is that a…" Sam's forehead wrinkled and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Dean was right. It is possible. Huh. Who knew?" His fingers started moving in and out, and Hermione reached down and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"This changes everything," she said.

"It's only a technicality. You're not really a virgin. You've just been re-hyminated is all."

Hermione stared at him.

He shrugged. "Dean's words. Not mine."

She was at a loss for words. One reason was because of what she now had…again. The other being about Sam's disrespectful, blasé attitude. God, men were such indelicate creatures! Next thing she knew he was going to be saying it was just a piece of membrane.

"It's just a piece of membrane," Sam said. "I'll be gentle, though. This is not the first one I've encountered."

Covering face, Hermione mumbled, "I believe you."

His thumb started fiddling with something interesting. "Look, it'll be fine. _You're_ fine."

"Sam," her voice hitched, a jolt of pleasure hitting her womb.

"Shit, you're going to feel amazing. Hmm? What?"

"It's not happening. Not now at least." She let her leg down from his shoulder and wiggled away from him, smoothing down her skirt, watching in embarrassment as he sucked his fingers and glared at her.

"Everybody's doing it," he sarcastically griped and went to shove her heel into his gut but he caught her by the ankle and cruelly ran his thumb up her foot. With her other foot, she pushed him in the chest.

"I think I'm going to leave." She stole her foot back and climbed off the bed.

"What am I supposed to do about this?" Sam fell back onto the bed, his hair falling off the bottom edge. He gestured to his lap area.

Hermione was tempted to remedy the situation by her own methods but refused to give the notion any further thought. Sam, who was usually understanding and sweet, was acting like an adolescent arsehole.

"Whatever you please," she said and pulled some bills from a cheap Mickey Mouse wallet she bought at the nearby Target. She slapped them on the mattress beside his shoulder.

"I didn't perform," he said suggestively, poking at the money.

"It's for the boots and underwear," she replied and went to the dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt. "I'll be gone in a few minutes."

After taking the dress off in the loo and donning more comfortable clothes, she stared at herself in the mirror and whispered, "I'm not giving it to him," and then washed her face, scrubbing off the thick layer of pancake makeup, blush, lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner. When she was done, her face felt raw and looked red from the scalding hot water. She cooled her skin with some cold and dabbed it dry with a towel before opening the door to see Sam sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes trained on the enthusiastic couple on the telly. His hand was…well…

"You like _Casa Erotica_?" he asked.

"No." She averted her eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the telly as she collected the rest of her belongings. Unfortunately, the rest of her clothes were in the dresser the telly was perched on. She blocked the screen and fished out her clothes, having to bend over in front of Sam to do it.

"Just stay like that for thirty more seconds."

Gritting her teeth, Hermione slowly stood up and turned around to face Sam, murder etched on her face. He paused his ministrations and said, "If you're not going to, then move to the side."

She did, taking one single step before going over to the cheaply made chair next to the table by the window and threw it with all her might against the wall.

"What the hell?" Sam cursed.

She ignored him and hardly cared she put a huge hole in the plaster. She picked up one of the broken legs of the chair and swiveled around and stomped up to him, not even hesitating when swinging the piece of wood at Sam's head with all her might. The leg broke on impact, and the man collapsed on the mattress, his hand still wrapped around his manhood.

Samuel and Christian were in the next room and surely heard the ruckus. Sure enough, she heard pounding against the wall. They'd be coming over very soon. She'd be gone by then but was disappointed she wouldn't see their priceless faces when they stumbled upon Sam in his given state.

Dropping the makeshift weapon to the floor, Hermione stuffed her things into her Target bag and Apparated to Las Vegas. She wouldn't see Sam again until December.

* * *

**A/N:** So this chapter was awkward to write, so if it's an awkward read I'm sorry and you're not alone.

Also, Soulless! Sam is hard to write. :p I have to second guess everything I type and ask myself, "Would a soulless person say or do this?"


	15. Chapter 15

**_"Yeah... I thought it was supposed to, to be this perfect fantasy."_**

**_"It wasn't. It was just a wish. I wished for Mom to live. That Mom never died, we never went hunting and you and me just never uh... you know."_**

**_"Yeah. Well, I'm glad we do. And I'm glad you dug yourself out, Dean. Most people wouldn't've had the strength, would have just stayed."_**

**_-Sam and Dean (2x20: What is and What Should Never Be)_**

* * *

**December 2010**

**(North Judson, Indiana)**

A shard of glass crunched underneath Hermione's snow-booted foot. Cursing, she glanced behind her and then glued herself to the nearest wall behind a corner. She held her breath and heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, loud and unsubtle. This djinn was young and inexperienced. Hermione had a glance at her when she was scoping out the abandoned warehouse for the victims. The djinn maybe eighteen or nineteen, but she was strong and fast.

The moment the djinn rounded the cornered, Hermione raised her tranq gun, the darts laced with a small amount of lamb's blood and the pointed tip silver. She pulled the trigger, but the girl dodged the dart and kneed Hermione in the stomach.

Ignoring the pain, Hermione punched the girl's cheek, disorienting the djinn before taking another shot, the dart hitting her in the arm. The djinn sluggishly lunged at her, both girls falling to the cold cement floor, the tranq gun sliding a several feet away from Hermione's reach. Hermione bunched herself and kicked the thing in the sternum. The djinn went flying back and gasped for breath and then stilled, succumbing to dart's effect.

Hermione got to her feet and picked up her gun, and the air changed behind her, the hairs on the back of her neck shooting up. Hurriedly, she turned around with her finger on the trigger and faced a young man who looked a great deal like the unconscious djinn. Blue, enflamed tattoos appeared on his hands and crept up the sleeves of his sweater. She fired a dart and it landed squarely in his neck. He staggered forward and face planted onto the floor, a sickly crunch echoing through the abandoned building.

Hermione fished her phone out of her jacket and was about to put Crowley on speed-dial when she felt her hairs prickle again. It was too late, though. She saw a blue-enflamed hand come from behind her and press its palm into the side of her face.

* * *

Hermione lurched up, heart thumping behind her teeth. She stared into the darkness of her hotel room and let out a deep, relieved breath.

It was only a dream.

She rubbed her eyes and yawned, something dwelling in the corner of her eye. She glanced at it and saw that it was a human-shaped form lying beside her.

A man.

There should be no man in her bed.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and saw that the man had ginger hair, kind of floppy. The room she was in was in fact not a hotel room but a bedroom. One that would be found in a home.

"Well," Hermione whispered to the sleeping man's back. "This has been a huge mistake. One I can't believe I made." She carefully slithered out of bed and pinched the ruffled collar of the white nightgown donning her body. "Ew."

She scanned the room for her jeans and boots and then looked under the bed and shot a perturbed look at the polished wooden frame. Touching it, she muttered, "Expensive."

"Mummy!"

Hermione popped her head up and saw a little girl about four standing in the doorway of the bedroom. Her hair was wild, ginger, and curly. In her grasp was a stuffed lion. The man on the bed shifted and tiredly asked, "What's the matter?"

Hermione nearly fainted. She knew that voice. It'd been fifteen goddamned years and the tone was a bit deeper, but it was him.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and stared at the man in the bed.

He stared back.

She cocked her head to the side inquisitively.

He did not do the same. "Something on my face?" he asked, squinting at her in the dark.

"Mummy?" the girl whined again and encircled her small arms around the woman's legs.

Hermione could not tear her eyes off Ronald Weasley, even when the little girl started banging her forehead against the backs of her knees, trying to get attention.

"Hey, what's the matter…both of you?" Ron asked gently.

"Nightmare, Daddy," the girl wept and scrambled onto the bed to the parent who would acknowledge her presence.

"It's okay, my little flower." Ron gathered her up, and the little girl rested her head on his shoulder.

"Ron," Hermione croaked. She pinched her arm, and almost leapt onto the bed and embraced him but the logical part of her brain made her stop.

Because none of this was logical.

Because none of this made sense.

The pinch felt real. The little girl bumping her head against her legs had felt real. The hideous nightgown she wore felt real. She suspected if she touched Ron, he'd feel real, too. He probably even smelt of freshly mown grass and toothpaste.

Hunting the djinn had not been a dream. One of them must've touched her and sent her here inside her own mind where she never left her world.

It was her wish. To never have been forced through the veil.

From the few people in the past she'd been able to save from the djinns, their wish-world was never perfect but always a bloody hell of a lot better than reality, and Hermione couldn't have agreed more. Ronald Weasley and she were sharing a bed. He wore a ring, and she did, too. Matching gold bands.

"I'm fine. I realized I shoved a book underneath the bed that I needed for something later. I didn't want to forget where I put it," she lied robotically, making no move to get back on the bed. As thrilled as she was to see Ron, she was not his wife. He was not her husband. Not really. None of this was real and if it was, what the hell? Ron had been a crush. An irritating boy she was infatuated with when she was a young, silly teenage girl. Surely, she would've outgrown him and dated around a bit before marrying someone else.

She _should've_ married someone else.

Anybody else.

Okay, not _anybody_.

Just listen to her, she was sounding like an ungrateful snot. There were far worse things than being married to Ron.

Crowley's bitch, for one.

2\. Not being able to _kill_ monsters but handing them over for God knows what.

3\. Being in jail.

4\. Choking on her lungs.

The list was endless.

She was wasting time. She needed to snap out of this and fast. She just wasn't sure how to get out of this dreamland. All the victims she'd come across, she had to save by rushing them to the nearest hospital. They bounced back by not being exposed to the djinn's touch any longer. As long as Hermione was strung up in that building with those djinn, she was screwed. She'd die in her own mind, in a life that wasn't real.

A small part of her told her she should give up and live the life she was meant for, but this wasn't living. It was a deceitful bastardization, and she mustn't be fooled or dissuaded from leaving this place. To wake up, she'd need to do research which meant abandoning Ron and escaping to the Muggle World. She smiled ruefully. All these years she wanted to return home and now she was struggling to get back to the universe filled with perverse magic and true evil.

She shook her head. This was not home.

"What time is it?" she asked Ron.

"I don't know. Early," Ron sputtered. "I'm going to put Rose to bed. I'm knackered and George wants me to stop by the shop before I go to work. Get some sleep, all right?"

"I'm not tired. You go back to sleep," she said and was about leave the room when Ron called out to her.

"Well, take her then if you're going to be shuffling about."

Hermione didn't really want to but reluctantly grabbed the child from Ron's arms. The sleepy girl yawned, blowing warm air on Hermione's neck. The woman stiffened at the unwelcome gesture of innocence and left the room, walking down the hallway of the house. It appeared to be more like a quaint cottage, actually.

She peeked into a room where the door was open and saw a child's cot inside. She walked inside and put the little girl on the bed and detached quickly, feeling ill. Rose felt so real and warm and smelt of fresh, clean parchment. Not paper but parchment. With a hint of grape-scented soap.

"Can we go to Grandma Monica's after breakfast?" the child chirped.

Something solid hit Hermione square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. "G-Grandma Monica's?"

"Uh huh."

Hermione didn't answer and almost ran out of the room but stopped when seeing the crib on the opposite side of the room, right across from Rose. She told herself not to go over and look inside but did anyway and gazed upon a baby boy, no older than year. His ginger hair was two shades darker than Ron's and was more wavy than curly. His cheeks were chubby, and he sucked earnestly on his pacifier as his protruding podgy stomach moved up and down with each breath.

This was her perfect part, she supposed. Having babies. Being a mum. When she'd been young, before falling through the veil, she wanted a child or two after establishing a career at the Ministry and marrying. All in that exact order. It hadn't been her top priority to be a wife and mother when she thought she could change the world by forcing house-elves to be free and by standing next to Harry Potter on any chosen battlefield whether it be the Department of Mysteries or in a classroom at Hogwarts.

When Hermione fell through the veil, it took her a little while to pick up the armor again but she was a warrior and it had cost her greatly when she was twenty-two and on a hunt with Junior. They were hunting a ghost of a former bomber in Belfast. The angry, ectoplasm-y spirit possessed a local and built a bomb for her and Junior inside of his own casket. When she had opened it, the make-shift bomb malfunctioned and blasted her lower side with some shrapnel. Her fallopian tube was severed, and she got an infection. The doctors told her she'd never have children. Later, she thought it for the best. Children were blessings up until parents outlived them. Hermione was not going to have babies only to bury them because a monster got at them. She'd made too many enemies. True hunters were hunted themselves.

She was healed now and bled every month. Maybe if the world was purged of supernatural evils, she'd remove her armor and embrace motherhood because, like Sam once upon a time, she wouldn't mind a family of her own. Yet, it'd be wrong to do such a thing. A child from her blood, her magic, would not be accepted in this world. There were still hunters out there like Gordon Walker who shot at anything suspicious like psychics and wiccans.

It reminded her of what Lucifer told her about those others who came here from her world and how they already started to reproduce. He could've been lying, but he wasn't known for such things. The truth, though embellished, was always more terrifying.

After she got Junior's soul out of hell, she had to find those Death Eaters. She already knew where two of them were. One of them, she may or may not kill. Draco may prove useful, but if he wasn't, she'd be merciful and _swift_.

Snape, on the other hand, probably had names and descriptions. Hermione doubted he'd help her, so she was going to have to force his hand.

Shaking her head, she tore away from her speeding mind and focused on her current situation. She needed to find a way back to reality.

* * *

This was not Hermione's wand.

The thin piece of enchanted wood perched on the nightstand on Hermione's side of the bed was not the vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. This wand was made of something else and belonged to someone else. She'd be a fool to not remember that this was Bellatrix Lestrange's wand.

It was on her bedside table, and Hermione did not want to touch it.

Why on earth was that bitch's wand in her house?! In her dreamland?! In what goddamn universe was this all right?!

"You're not real!" Hermione snatched the wand from its resting place and snapped it in half. It sparked and she felt a magical tug of loss in her chest, but she didn't care. She didn't need it and wasn't going to be here long enough to replace it.

Ron was asleep again, and she was dressed in ugly-mum jeans and a burgundy knitted sweater with the letters H.W. on it. With the exception of the pretty, lush but loose-fitting robes in the closet, all of her clothing was hideous or ill-fitting. It probably had something to do with the extra two stones she carried. Apparently, the baby weight from the boy-child in the nursery had not left her.

She slipped some snow boots on her feet and went into the loo where she saw her reflection for the first time since she'd woken up. Her face was a little rounder and her hair was shorter, brushing her shoulders. Except for those things, she looked the same.

Next to the sink was a small jar labeled Loosen Up. On the label, there was a winking cartoon of a girl with tight, cork screw curls that morphed into thick, bouncy loops. Hermione opened it and scooped out a good amount of light-brown goo and ran it through her hair, watching in awe as her crazy tresses expanded and relaxed. Her hair now rested three inches past her shoulders. She smiled wistfully at the jar.

"Only in dreamland," she murmured and put it away. She then brushed her teeth and went into the kitchen, scoping out the pantry, shoving some wrapped, small loaves of pumpkin bread into her coat pocket.

In the sitting room was a stone fireplace and a bowl of green powder on the mantle. Nervously, she gathered a handful and stepped inside the hearth, dropping the load at her feet. "Diagon Alley," she said and endured one of the most unpleasant experiences of her life…again.

She arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and Tom was just opening up. He smiled at her in surprise and tipped his head at her. "Mrs. Weasley, you're up early."

"I have errands in Muggle London today," she said and marched towards the entrance. "Good day."

* * *

Charring Cross Road was snowy and icy, and the rising sun tried to break through the thick puffy clouds. She probably looked strange to those few people up this early, trudging about in the early morning in such a ridiculous sweater, but they hardly mattered.

She arrived at the nearest college library, the building thick from students studying for their upcoming exams. Miraculously, she found a free computer and started researching djinn. Much to her dismay, she found even less than she did in the real world. The internet kept tossing Koran verses and Muslim mythology at her.

"They don't exist here," she whispered and sat back in her chair, grumpily pulling out one of the small loaves of bread in her pocket and started nibbling on it.

"Excuse me," the boy who sat next to her said. He looked twenty and mighty confused. "You can't eat that in here."

"You look hungry," she said and took out the other loaf and put next to his keyboard. "Eat."

"Eat?" he repeated, like doing such a thing was completely foreign to him. He poked at the loaf and then picked it up, placing next to his nose and inhaling. He sighed and grinned. "Thanks. There's no Maryjane in here in it, is there? I got an test in two hours."

"You'll do fine. Good luck." She wandered through the library, finding the Mythology and Folklore section. There were books on vampires, werewolves, ghosts, legends, and so on. Most, if not all, of the information differed greatly from reality.

Vampires did not sparkle! God, even in dreamland, she couldn't get away from that load of saggy bollocks.

Around ten and with little success, Hermione went back to the Leaky Cauldron and kept her head down as to not be seen by the customers. Most of them were unfamiliar, but some of them she knew. Neville Longbottom was at a table with Hannah Abbot and two children. She almost didn't recognize him. He was so handsome!

Despite herself, Hermione started gravitating back towards Diagon Alley. The entryway was open, and she walked through, stopping to take in the changes. All the shops from her memories appeared to have been renovated or changed to sell something else. Florean Fortescue was gone but Ollivander's was still there, newer in appearance.

There was newness at every turn, and Hermione wanted to indulge her curiosity and take a tour, but her feet took her to Flourish &amp; Blotts. Everything, all the books and manuscripts were better organized. She meandered up the stairwell, passing witches and wizards alike, coming to a section on magical creatures and picking out a book. Whilst flipping the pages, she failed to notice a man come up behind her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around, pressing her back against the shelf. The book dropped between their feet, and he kicked it aside.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" the man barked.

Dumfounded, Hermione grabbed his shoulders and pushed, eyes trained on the lightning bolt scar on his forehead beneath some black fringe. "Harry," she said and then smiled. She cupped his cheek and stared adoringly at him. "This is what you would've looked like."

"What?" He shook his head and stepped back. "Never mind. Ron's worried sick about you. He couldn't find you this morning, and you didn't leave a note."

"Harry," she said, still in a daze. The name sounded foreign on her tongue. She wiggled away from him and back to the top of the stairs, and she stared down at the shop. Her vision landed on Draco Malfoy who was purchasing some books at the cashier's counter. His hair was long and secured tightly in black band. His hairline appeared to be receding, as well. He looked different than the policeman who nearly bled to death on her carpet over a year ago. Beside him was a tiny boy with white-blond hair and chubby cheeks, his little gloved hand clinging to the skirt of a pretty woman's lavish winter robe.

"What's going on, Hermione?" Harry asked from behind her.

"It feels real, you know?" she said, nibbling her lip thoughtfully. "I even get hungry and have to use the loo. I have conversations with people I don't know in places I've never been. I have a daughter with atrocious hair and bad teeth and a son who breathes and sleeps.

"You grabbed me, and I could feel the grip of your hands and the shelves of the bookcases against my back. It almost hurt, but it doesn't change my mind, Harry. None of this is real."

Hermione expected Harry to snap at her for being ridiculous or, bloody hell, even croon at her and coax her out of shop so he could admit her to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward. Instead, he came up behind her and toyed with the ends of her hair and whispered, "So? It's as close to home you will ever get to, Hermione."

She turned to face him, chin trembling. "I'll die."

Harry's features softened and he squeezed her arm. "Here, you'll live a lifetime before that happens."

Solemnly, she shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I can't stay."

He cupped her face and pressed their foreheads together. "Your mum and dad are here. Don't you miss them? Go see them."

Harry embraced her, and she clung to him like she was about to drown. Over his shoulder, people from so long ago appeared, expressions relaxed and hopeful. Her mum and dad, alive and aging, beamed at her. All of the Weasleys except for Fred were gathered in a huddle. Hermione frowned and wondered why he wasn't next to George. Next to Ginny were three boys, the oldest sporting dirty blond, spiky hair. When his gaze met hers, his hair turned icy-blue.

Tonks? Clearly, this was her son. Where was his mother? Where was Sirius and Lupin? There should be more than just who were present. Snape told her Sirius and Lupin made it out of the Department of Mysteries, yet they weren't here.

Balance. The word rang clear and loud inside her head like a church's brass bell in a small village. She lived and others died.

She pulled away from Harry, wiping at her cheeks and noticing he was crying, too. He said, "I need you more than I needed any of them, Hermione. I always have and always will. Please don't abandon me, again. Please don't leave. You're my best friend."

Hermione backed away, bracing herself on the railing, her fingers wrapping around the wood. "I miss you," she told him and maneuvered her bum on the railing. Her grip loosened. "I miss you all, but I can't stay."

She let go and fell head first, the hard, lacquered floor springing up to slam into her skull.

* * *

Eye's flying open, Hermione gasped and tried to focus on the bright lights and white walls around her. The room swirled and she blinked a few times to steady her vision while trying to catch her breath.

"Easy," a familiar voice from beside her said. It was Dean. She was lying down in a hospital room, and he was standing next to her. On the other side, there was a nurse recording her vitals.

"What's going on?" she croaked. She licked her lips, her tongue feeling like sandpaper against her parched mouth.

"I was hoping you could tell me," he said and tossed the nurse a pointed look. She got the point and hurried her business before leaving the room. He cleared his throat and hesitantly explained, "I…uh…found you."

"You found me," Hermione repeated. "I heard you weren't hunting anymore."

"I'm not. I wasn't. I…" He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. "I heard about the disappearances, all right? An hour from where I live. I had to check it out. I found you. There were others, but they were already dead. I called the police and got you out of there."

"Did you kill the djinn?" A part of her hoped he did, the other part not so much. If she could score three djinn, then maybe she could gain more leeway with Crowley.

"No," he said curtly. "I figured once you got healed up, you'd get back out there and finish the job. I'm out, Granger."

"Dean." She sighed and rested her on the pillow, tired and weak. She peered up at the blood bag strung up beside her. Only one. She wasn't out long.

Dean scooted the visitor chair up next to her bed and sat, clasping his hands together after rubbing them. "Where were you? Sam…" His face crumpled like he was struggling not to fall apart. "He called you. Over and over again."

"I…" She stopped herself from saying he was brought back to life. He'd want to know everything of the what's and how's. She didn't even know herself. It'd also be cruel to taunt her newly given life when he believed his brother was in hell. From how miserable and, admittedly suicidal he looked, she yearned to tell him the truth. His brother was alive and a moronic pig. It wasn't her place. This was a family matter, and the Winchesters, nor even the Campbells, were her family.

"I was hurt terribly. Lucifer tortured me in warning to stay away from Sam. I was incapacitated for a long time after that. It was just later this summer I was able to get back into the groove of things."

He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his mouth. Guilt etched itself deep at the corners of his lips and forehead. "It's my fault."

"How is that your fault?"

"I should've had Cass…" He trailed off.

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't Sam's. He actually tried to warn me, saying he was dangerous to be around. Truth is, any hunter is dangerous to be around. The devil saw me as a threat. He thought I'd get in the way of Sam becoming his vessel."

Dean's frown deepened. "He told you about that?"

Hermione nodded and winced. "I'm so thirsty, I'm going to start crying salt crystals."

"I'll get you something."

Dean returned with a small plastic cup of water, and it tasted divine. "Thank you."

A young boy about eleven appeared in the doorway. He had dark hair, freckled skin, an ACDC shirt, and a suspicious expression on his face. "Who's that?" she asked.

Dean turned around and said, "I thought I told you to stay in the visiting room."

"We've been here for two hours," the boy lamented and gave Hermione a hard glare. "Are you cheating on my mom? Dude, that's _so_ not cool."

"What? No. No, Ben. This is…_was_…Sam's girlfriend. She's not feeling very well. I've been waiting for her to wake up."

"Oh." Ben looked mortified and ashamed, his face paling with the exception of rouged cheeks. His feet suddenly became interesting. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, buddy. I just need to visit with her for a few more minutes, then we can leave."

Ben nodded glumly and disappeared down the hall.

"You have a son," Hermione said in mild surprise. Truthfully, she shouldn't be shocked at all. This was _Dean_, lover of women and sex.

"He's not mine. I'm domesticating," he said as if he didn't really know what the word meant. He stared at his palms and inhaled sharply. "You know Sam's gone, right?"

"Yes."

"Yeah," he said vaguely. "I didn't mention it before, and I didn't know if you knew." He started to babble, and she let him. Seconds ticked by into a minute and he finally started to slow. He messaged his forehead and muttered, "I need a drink. Think they serve beer in this joint?"

"I doubt it's a beer you want, Dean," Hermione said knowingly.

"You're not wrong about that." He sighed.

They weren't friends and barely even allies, but they were familiar with each other. Hermione knew underneath that Neanderthal, macho front was a very good man who saved a lot of people according to Bobby. She gave him a small smile and extended her hand out in offering. He stared at it before standing up and leaning over. His hand cupped the back of her skull, and he kissed her on the forehead. "Take care of yourself, kid," he said and left the room.

To be continued...

* * *

A/N: Hermione's dream verse was originally supposed to be two or three chapter's long, but it didn't work out that way. I hope it was satisfying, nevertheless.

Thank you reviewers, readers, followers, and such.

Please read and review!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Thanks a whole bunch to my readers, reviewers, and followers.

Also, remember from chapter 12 how I mentioned Saad Daher. Keep him in mind during this chapter and those to come. I also went back a few chapter and cleared up a few continuity errors and grammatical errors. I'll continue to do so as I go along.

This chapter turned out a whole lot longer than I expected, but I'm kind of proud of it. It's dark and kind of fun, I think. Do you agree or has Hermione totally gone off the deep end? And just freakin' when is Draco going to show up, again? Guh! In a couple of chapters from now.

* * *

**December 26, 2010 **

**12:07 A.M.**

**Unknown Location**

Crowley stood beside Hermione admiring the nine-inch knife in his hand, the florescent lighting making the blade gleam. He sighed dreamily and lowered it and brought his other hand up holding a much smaller blade, sharper looking and in the shape of an arrowhead. It was hooked to a ring around his middle finger.

"Have a preference, love?" he asked, eyebrows arched in inquiry. "Plunging and messy or swift and lethal."

The thick brown leather strap over Hermione's mouth kept her from talking. To communicate, she glared hatefully and stuck her right middle finger up. Unfortunately, the way she was situated on the inclining metal chair, with her arms spread out and reaching away from her head, her bird faced the corner. Her wrists were buckled down tightly and so were her ankles. Two wide pieces of leather preserved her modesty, for she was completely naked in a very cold, very large room that smelt of old and fresh blood and decomposing bodies. Said decomposing bodies were scattered about in pieces around the room, but Hermione tried not to pay them any mind, finding little comfort in the fact they didn't belong to real humans.

Crowley set down the two blades on a nearby cart with a metal tray and white cloth. "I let you think about it. And you should be so flattered. I don't usually give my guests an option on how they die. My methods are more of…I poke at you until the lights go out. Just tell me when, darling, and Papa Crowley will cater to his little Hermione."

He picked up a scalpel and considered it. "Instead of making that pitiful deal with you, I should've snatched you then. You are a rare find. We get you lot in the furnace because there are no alternative realities for hell. But to find you _here_ in this world and topside for that matter is a real treat. You have all your powers and you are like a fresh canvas thanks to Castiel."

Hermione widened her eyes and shook her head. Castiel was not the one to bring her back to life. He would've contacted her if he had. Wouldn't he?

"Ah, yes. It was our fair-feathered friend who brought you back, and I can't wait to make a masterpiece out of you." He skimmed the tip of the scalpel underneath her barely covered breast, teasing her ribs. "Tell me, sweetheart, are there more of you? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Hermione stared at him, not batting a lash.

"Well, then," Crowley said and paused to take in a long, deep unneeded breath. He set down the scalpel and quickly picked up a pair of polished kitchen scissors and lunged at Hermione's ear. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting to feel a searing pain but only felt the light tug of her braid and the sound of a two sharp blades hacking it off. Popping her eyes open, Crowley pointedly shook twelve inches of a curly braid at her and tossed it aside.

Hermione curled her fingers into a fist and growled, the light above them flickering. Crowley peered up at it and, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Fascinating. I took back your magic, and you still spark." He put down the scissors. "Now don't get all in fuss. You look so much more grown up. If you were going to live until sunrise, I'd say you may never get carded again."

Crowley started teasing the skin over her ribs again with the scalpel and repeated, "Are there more of you?"

She refused to answer, and he cut her. She winced at the sharp sting and saw that Crowley gave her a bleeding, but shallow four-inch slice between two ribs. It hurt but not terribly so.

Crowley asked again and this time she blinked twice, and regarded her for a moment before lengthening and slightly deepening the gash on her ribs. She did her best not to hiss and felt blood trickle down the side of her stomach. The demon lightly tapped the blade's tip on her nose. "I think you're lying."

Hermione blinked twice in denial, and Crowley pried her left fist open and plunged the scalpel cleaning through the middle of her palm. She screamed in pain and the light above them brightened and then shattered.

* * *

_**Two Days Before...**_

**Tampa, Florida**

"I'm calling the shots on this," Hermione snapped at her passenger while pulling the rented silver Honda in front of the roomy, southern Victorian styled B&amp;B.

"This is my hunt," Sam responded sharply and she huffed, leaning over to straighten his collar. "This is stupid. You're entire plan is ridiculous and unnecessary. We should've just gone as run of the mill FBI agents or people from the state."

"And why would two federal investigators be investigating an _almost_ double homicide? Or the state for that matter? The local police have already taken the couple's statement and said couple are already returning to Maine where they won't get slaughtered on their babymoon. Face it. This is the most unsuspicious and somewhat legal way we are going to solve this case."

Hermione dug into her knock off Gucci bag and pulled out a tiny plastic pouch. "And you're wrong about the hunt being yours. You asked me to come along because Samuel ditched you to hunt with Christian. Therefore, it's ours, _honey_." She opened the tiny pouch and pulled out a tungsten ring and put it under Sam's nose. He took it and slipped it on his hand. She put her ring on, ignoring the man's whistle.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I stole it. C'mon."

They both got out of the car, welcoming the modest breeze and the warm, moist air. They walked up the cement pathway to the porch and walked through the front door, a bell dinging as they entered. Hermione approached the front desk, waiting for someone to help them. A middle-aged, plump woman came from the office behind the desk and waddled up to them. She arched one brow at Hermione and when she noticed Sam, the other sprung up, as well. "How may I help you?"

Mimicking the woman's accent, Hermione replied, "Reservation under Cantor. We're checking in."

"Ah, yes. The honeymoon suite." She put a sheet of paper on the desk, and Hermione stepped back to affectionately wrap her arms around Sam's, batter her lashes up at him. He got the message and pulled out his fake ID, smiling tightly, and signed the agreement and receipt.

"My, my, my. What a lovely couple you two make." She took away the paper and moved away from behind the front desk, a key in hand. "I'm Mrs. Hanshock. Your room is on the third floor."

Once Hermione and Sam were settled into the room, Mrs. Hanshock left them alone, and Hermione commented, "Funny. She mentioned nothing about the room being haunted or people dying in here."

From his bag, Sam pulled out an EMF reader and turned it on, only three of the six tiny bulbs lighting up. As for Hermione, she pressed her ear to the wall and flattened a palm against it, closing her eyes. She could feel a restless presence lurking beneath the wallpaper and plaster, but the spirit wasn't ready to come out and play yet.

"So Elizabeth Winston was cremated?" Sam put away the EMF reader and pulled down the blinds, darkening the room. He fished a black light out of his bag and clicked it on. "Think we'll find blood in here from thirty years ago."

The walls were clean, aside from some stains on the wall above the bed. The comforter and pillowcases were covered in illuminated spackles, too.

"That's not blood. There might be a little on there, but not from who we're hoping for," Hermione noted.

"Help me pull the bed away from the wall."

With the mattress away from the wall, Hermione laid on the floor with the light and slowly hovered it over the floor and baseboards. "Nothing," she said and got to her feet. "I don't know what's keeping her here. She couldn't have attached herself to anything in the room. This whole establishment has been renovated and refurnished twice over since 1980. There's nothing here from when she died."

"Dean and I once encountered a ghost who wouldn't let go. This could be the same situation. We could try talking to the Elizabeth. Try to get her to move on."

"Or," Hermione said slowly, "we can banish her if there is definitely nothing keeping her here. I know the spell and probably can get the supplies not far from here."

They left the B&amp;B and drove to the nearest witch and wiccan shop to pick up the supplies. When they got back, Sam started flipping through the room service menu while Hermione expertly set up the summoning alter. They would first summon Elizabeth, reason with her if possible, and then banish her if not. Of course they wouldn't be able to do it until night time when the spirit was at her strongest. They had a good three hours until then.

"Hungry?" Sam asked as she gave the last finishing touches, making sure the ceramic bowl was center on the rune-decorated placemat. "They serve fried shrimp and stew over rice."

"Really?" Hermione walked over and grabbed the menu from him. "Mmm. Beef? Hmmm." She studied the back of the menu, analyzing the desserts, specifically the chocolate ones.

Sam picked up the receiver on the bedside table and dialed the kitchen. "Yes, I'd like you're two specials with two salads. Italian dressing with both. Also, can you bring up one of your honeymoon desserts? Thanks."

He hung up the phone and Hermione tossed aside the menu. "You have this annoying, presumptuous habit of ordering my food for me. I promise my delicate, girly heart won't give out if I make my own decisions of what to put in my stomach."

"It just might," he said solemnly and tugged at her hand, pulled her towards him. He was sitting on the bed, and their knees were brushing. He put his hands on her hips and squeezed, giving her a lusty gaze. "If I cop a feel, are you going to break the furniture and use it as a weapon?"

"If you think I can simply forget how you treated me in California."

Sam made no move to apologize for how he behaved three months before. He just stared up at her with his pretty eye. "I get that it's important to some people. Like naïve teenager girls, and bible-thumpers ,and people who think sex is special-"

"It _is_ special, Sam. I don't let just any wanker have a go at me. I'm not that kind of girl, and I didn't take you for that kind of man."

He shrugged. "I used to be, I guess. But I could die tomorrow. So could you. Don't you want to go out knowing you had great sex a day or a week before? I mean, think about it. This spirit could get the best of you, and you'd die a virgin."

Technically, Hermione died at sixteen by going through the veil at the Department of Mysteries. She was a virgin then, and it hadn't been the end of the world. It wasn't humiliating. Having never been with a man was the least of her worries at sixteen when arriving to this godforsaken alternative dimension. Of course, along the way, there had been boys like Sam who spouted off similar words about living like today was your last or if God didn't want us to be happy, He wouldn't have given us condoms and beer.

"Oh, Sam," Hermione patted him on the cheek, "it's absurd you think I care."

"I'll make you feel good." His tone dropped several octaves and dripped with dark promises. "I'll taste you over and over again until you can't remember your own name."

Blood rushed to Hermione's cheeks as well as to other places. She didn't have a snippy comeback for that because her mind began to wander and imagine and fantasize about Sam's floppy hair tickling her thighs. She'd coil her fingers around chunks of it and use it to keep his face where it belonged.

Hermione battled with herself. On one hand, she didn't really want to do it with Sam. He didn't deserve it. On the other, she knew how bloody spectacular of a partner he was in between the sheets.

She licked her lips and shifted on her feet before confidently telling him, "We need to worry about getting rid of Elizabeth."

With their shrimp, stew, and tri-chocolate mini cake scarfed down, Hermione changed from her sundress into a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. Sunset was approaching, and she could feel the spirit's energy building. She and Sam past the time by watching some telly until an hour before it was dark. It was then when Hermione kneeled at the makeshift altar, knowing the spirit was now strong enough to be summoned. Fluidly, Latin poured from her tongue as Sam made a large circle of salt around her. When she finished the spell, she hurriedly got to her feet and stepped over the salt line.

"You _know_ that spell," Sam said suspiciously.

"This isn't my first rodeo as you Americans would say."

The candles inside the circled and around the altar blew out, and the lamps and ceiling light flickered on and off. Seconds later, Elizabeth Winston appeared in the middle of the circle. It was difficult to believe she'd once been beautiful, for every exposure of skin was mutilated in some way. Her wedding dress was in tatters and bloody, and her veil was torn and stained, as well.

Taken back by the spirits appearance, Hermione struggled for words. By far, Elizabeth was the most grotesque spirit she'd ever dealt with. Finally, Hermione managed a weak, "Elizabeth."

The spirit regarded her, and Hermione realized that the only unmarred feature were her eyes.

"Elizabeth," Hermione said, this time more firmly. "You need to stop hurting people. You need leave this place and move on"

The spirit twitched and flickered and then screamed in unholy rage, "He killed me!"

"I know. What your husband did to you was awful and unforgiveable, but you can't make each man suffer for what he did."

"Their wives weren't safe! I protect them!"

"But you've killed wives. You've killed three in thirty years."

"They didn't understand! Their husbands were going to murder them!"

"Elizabeth, please. Aren't you tired?" Hermione tried, meeting Sam's eyes briefly. He nodded and started backing away. Elizabeth noticed this and looked up on Sam like she'd just noticed he was in the room. The temperature dropped several degrees and the windows started to frost and crack.

"You will kill her!" the spirit accused and the windows shattered, a gust of wind sweeping through the room and breaking the salt line. Sam picked up the canister of salt by his feet and tossed some on her, and she dissolved. Hermione ran to the altar and struck a match, tossing it into the ceramic bowl. She grabbed some salt from the broken circle and chucked it into the flame. The fire sputtered and crackled, and Hermione began to chant the banishment spell.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione witnessed Elizabeth reappear and throw Sam across the room with a wave of her hand. Sam hit the wall, leaving a broken dent in the plaster, before crumpling to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Hermione sprinkled another bit of salt into the bowl, and started pouring her own magic into the incantation, something she'd never done before. She'd always let the unknown handle it. It both frightened and excited her, mixing her own pure magic with the unnatural crudeness of this dimension's.

The spirit of Elizabeth Winston screamed and flames sprung up from the wooden floor and licked at her essence right before engulfing her. The fire disappeared like it had never been there, and Sam stirred. She reckoned they better sneak out before someone came knocking on the door complaining of the noise.

Hermione and Sam gathered up their belongings, and crept down the hallway, down the hallway, and out the back entrance. They were on the road within minutes.

"Are your hunts usually so…short?" Sam asked.

"I try to give myself a time limit. If I can solve the problem in a day, it's a good hunt. Why? Do you watch too much telly and chat unnecessarily with the locals?"

"You get too hasty, you make mistakes," Sam defended. "Next thing you know, you're burning the wrong bones and more people die."

"Then get it right the first time. If I have to spend a week on a case…"

"Disneyland."

"Because that was Disneyland. In a town with a population of a thousand, a hunt shouldn't be that hard. We knew who the spirit was and where it was."

"When you have a brother that likes to primp his pretty face and perfect hair-"

"Who was it that made us behind schedule because he had to make sure his hair was falling _just_ right? God, Sam, just close your eyes and think happy thoughts, and I'll give you a good snip. You'll thank me when it's over."

"Says the woman who has hair down to her ass."

"I keep it up!"

"I'm not fighting you about this." Sam turned into the parking lot of Enterprise Rental. The business was closed for the evening, so they dropped the rental car off, along with the keys in the drop box before walking the two blocks to Sam's parked car. They passed a Hispanic man dressed up as Santa Clause ringing a bell, and Hermione dropped a few cents into the Toys for Tots bucket.

When they settled into the car, Hermione buckled her seatbelt and sighed. "It's Christmas tomorrow. Are you going to catch up with Samuel and your cousins?"

"They don't really celebrate it, and it was sort of a hit and miss with me and Dean growing up. What about you?"

"Well." Hermione fished out her phone from her light jacket and checked her carefully concocted newsfeed she set up herself. She smirked when seeing what she'd been waiting for the past two weeks. "I'll be hunting djinn."

"Not _a_ djinn, but djinn. More than one."

"They're in El Paso. I think these are the ones I've kept an eye out for. I lost track of them back in Indiana."

"You were Indiana?"

"It's a big state, Sam. I didn't see him," Hermione lied and then regarded the clock on the radio.

Hermione let him drive to Orlando before requesting he pull over and find a place for them to rest. It may have been Christmas Eve in a tourist city, but they managed to score a single room at a Motel 6 where the telly had ten channels and the bed was a double and akin to a slab of concrete. The bathroom was a basic size, but there was only a circular-shaped shower with a flimsy blue and red striped curtain attached to a rusty rod. Hermione fought the stubborn knobs for hot water and then dried off, wrapped a scratchy small towel around her, and brushed her teeth. As she flossed, she thought of what Sam naughtily said earlier at the Bed n' Breakfast. For five minutes, she battled with herself and like an idiot, pressed her ear against the door to hear what Sam was doing. She could barely make out the faint sound of him typing on his laptop.

Making up her mind, Hermione pulled her soft pajama pants and large t-shirt out of her bag and slipped them on before combing her hair and padding into the room. Sam was sitting next to the small round table most likely digging for his next hunt. She pulled back the thin covers on the bed and slipped between them, hugging the edge so Sam would have enough room for when he was ready for bed.

Reaching to the lamp on the nightstand, she turned it off and situated herself on the hard mattress and thin pillow, staring at Sam's face which was illuminated by the computer screen and the lamp beside him. Tiredly, she asked, "So you're not going to do anything for Christmas tomorrow?"

He frowned at her. "Once I drop you off, I'm heading to Raleigh to pick up Samuel. From there it's Bristol, Rhode Island."

"You should get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

"I'll lay down in a while. Go to sleep."

Hermione did and when she woke up, Sam still sat at the table, this time with two bottles of beer next to him, one of them empty. She craned her head to look at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it was almost three o' clock. Sighing, she closed her eyes tightly, hating herself and hating him for making her feel things when he barely even deserved her attention as of late. But her knickers were a bit damp, and she never considered herself a pathetic half-wit driven by libido until Sam Winchester came along.

Because the time was weird and her thoughts were fuzzy, she admitted to herself that she liked him still despite his misgivings in August. She hadn't liked someone like this since Saad Daher, but she really didn't want to think about him right now. Before Saad, though, was Junior. Junior had been her first. They met when she was eighteen and working at Platinum &amp; Lace. When she was trying to pay for rent and food. Unbeknown to her, there was a siren working the stage, too, and causing trouble with a handful of the regulars. Junior sniffed out the hunt and came in acting like a big-time cop, and Hermione and the club's bouncer got caught in the middle of a crossfire one late night after work, and Junior explained to her what her coworker was and what he really was—a hunter.

Desperate for a chance at something that wasn't painfully normal about the world she'd been dropped in, she gobbled up everything he told her and begged for more. Hoping to hear about something, anything that could possibly lead her home. He shirked her pretty quickly, thinking she was some kind of a giddy, school girl lunatic crushing on him.

Since the siren broke Hermione's ankle, she was out of work and eventually lost her room in the tiny flat she shared with three other girls. Once healed, she tracked down Junior to his father's restaurant and begged him to train her as a hunter. He told her no and Papa stepped in with a reluctant maybe saying she had to start from the beginning. For three years she worked in the restaurant, starting in the kitchen and ending up in management. During her breaks and after work, she was handed book after book after tattered manuscript.

Following the first year with them, Junior started training her, making her run unbearably long distances and doing excruciatingly amount of pushups. He then trained her on weapons, starting with blades and ending with guns. At the beginning of her third year, she was hunting with Junior and working less at the restaurant. They were spending more time together outside of training and, eventually, outside of hunting. Junior started making advances towards her, and she let him because she was twenty-one years old and hadn't a relationship since Viktor Krum. She'd been on a few dates and kissed a couple of men, but they had always jumped on her face without permission. Needless to say, she had no true experience with men or real relationships.

Hermione gobbled up Junior's affection and gave herself to him. Their relationship lasted seven months, and then she discovered Alexia and him in comprising position in the backroom of Vincent's one late evening. Both had begged for her forgiveness which she gave sometime later after she'd left for the States. She eventually came to terms with what happened and wasn't angry or hurt anymore and knew she needed Junior's friendship more than she needed his fidelity or guilt. Hunter's lives were short, and she didn't want to die hating him. She also didn't want him to die thinking he wasn't forgiven.

"Sam," Hermione whispered.

"It's too early. Go back to sleep."

She nibbled her lips and then sat up. She tugged at the covers on the other side of the bed and said, "Come to bed, Sam."

"I'm fine."

"No, Sam." She shook her head and then stripped out of her t-shirt and wiggled out of her bottoms.

There was nothing sexy or enticing of how she removed her pajamas, but Sam got the point anyway. As he started unlacing his boots, he chuckled and asked, "What changed your mind?"

"I have the right to do so and without question as to why."

Finally, his boots were off and his shirt followed, but he tried creeping into the bed with his jeans on and she snapped her fingers and pointed at them. "It's like you can't learn."

Sam grumbled at her and removed his trousers before sliding into the free space next to her. He smirked at her triumphantly, and she rolled her eyes and wiped that un-Sam-like arrogance off his face with a peck to his lips. He then grabbed her hips and maneuvered her beneath him. She spread her legs to accommodate him, and her breath hitched when he cupped one breast and laved and bit at the other. Soon, his face was right where it belonged, and she was gripping his hair and biting back screams. Over and over again, like he wickedly promised, he tasted her and made her forget her own name. Soon, she couldn't handle the direct contact of his tongue any longer, and she let go of his hair and yanked at his shoulders. He rose up and buried his face into her neck.

Hermione's heart pounded. She was overwhelmed with a million emotions and sensations. She knew this could all stop with a simple but firm no. A part of her wanted to, but another part, more primal and needy, urged her to keep going. It reminded her of her loneliness and her excessive bouts of cold showers she'd been taking to keep focused. The part told her pretty things like how Sam liked her and wanted her and thought she was beautiful and intelligent and strong. It told her that he didn't care she was a witch, and that part she believed fully. Junior had never known and _would have_ cared, so Hermione inhaled deeply and clawed at Sam's back as he slipped inside her.

The pain took a little while to subside, and once it did, she kissed the teeth mark she left on Sam's shoulder and clung to him. He whispered filthy things into her ear, certain particular naughty words being emphasized with a hard thrust.

Hermione was not one to inwardly compare lovers or partners whilst in the middle of sex, a snog, or even an intimate embrace. Even if she did, it would be a very short thought. She could count on one hand how many men she kissed. As for coitus, there had only been Junior and Sam. Saad, sweet Saad…well...it didn't happen.

Junior and Sam were very different in their approach to how they made love to her for her first time. Junior, with all his friendliness and passion, was incredibly gentle. He had treated her like she was going to break the moment he sunk into her, the young man never bedding such an innocent girl and had been extra careful how to go about it.

With Sam, Hermione would be lying if she called him rough. The correct terms would be forward and intellectual. They were the only way she could accurately describe his prowess. Unlike Junior who had done a decent amount of foreplay to make everything bearable, Sam nearly drover her bonkers for the preshow. He was brilliant in his approach, making her an absolute incoherent mess of nerves.

Hermione's orgasm began to build. She nipped at Sam's ear delicately, and he pulled away from her neck and kissed her. She liked kissing at that pivotal point in lovemaking. It was so intimate and personal and just…lovely. For all his faults as of late, Sam was just superb at this and remembered exactly how she liked it.

Seconds later, she and Sam lay in a tangle mess, his sweaty head tucked underneath her chin and both panting and boneless feeling. Instinct took over from her lips being so close to his head, she brushed back his bangs and kissed his forehead. "Happy Christmas," she said and let her eyes close. Within a minute, she was asleep.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sound of heavy rain hitting the motel window. She reached out to the space next to her and felt cold, empty sheets. She slit her eyes open and sat up. Sam wasn't in the room, and his laptop and beer bottles weren't on the table. A sinking feeling hit her stomach, and she wrapped the bed's sheet around her and got out of bed, padding to the window. She parted the curtain slightly, hoping to see his Charger parked in front of the room, but it wasn't.

She didn't cry but gave herself a little beat-down. Of course Sam was gone. He was a man, got what he wanted, and bolted like they all do.

About to put the sheet back on the bed, she noticed a small wrapped package on the pillow next to the one she slept on. The wrapping was newspaper and a little damp, the ink leaving a stain on the white pillow case and her fingers. In black sharpie over Elizabeth Winston's old obituary, it said FROM SAM. Hermione ripped it open and saw that it was a necklace. She frowned at the familiarity of it, swearing she'd seen the pendent somewhere. Soon realization struck her and she sighed. "Oh, Sam."

This was Dean's necklace, and why he didn't have it, Hermione hadn't a clue. She recognized the hideous little face attached to the black cord and recalled it on Dean the few times they were in each other's presence. When she'd seen him at the hospital a couple of weeks ago, he hadn't been wearing it.

Hermione was about to put the necklace on but hesitated. It felt wrong for some reason and for a few seconds, she debated whether to pack it with her things or to wear it. She decided on the latter and double-looped the black cord and slipped it on her wrist next to the bracelet Sam got her two years ago. When the pendent made contact with her skin, she could feel some sort of energy wafting off of it. The sensation was subtle, and Hermione's sensed the energy was good in nature and guessed that it must be a protective charm. Protection against what, Hermione didn't know.

After a shower and dressing, she gathered her belongings and put them in her satchel. A week ago, she remembered the Undetectable Extension Charm from her teenage years and no longer needed a vehicle to transport all of her belongings. She could simply spell a bag into carrying everything she needed: weapons, clothes, books, computer, and juice boxes.

Hermione Apparated to a cemetery in El Paso she once visited on a salt-and-burn case some years previously. It was in the evening when she tracked down the three djinn. They were expectantly squatting in an abandoned distribution center having themselves a succulent Christmas dinner feeding off a six victim. From her spot in the rafters, Hermione stealthily set up her tranqrifle and waited twenty minutes for all three of them to be around the victims at the same time. She fired three meticulous shots, hitting each djinn in the neck.

* * *

At the Grapevine crossroads with three unconscious djinn at Hermione's feet, two demons of Crowley's appeared. One smiled sickeningly at her. "Three of them? Must be Christmas." He advanced up on them, and Hermione pulled out her tranq pistol and fired a dart at him. The dart hit the demon in the neck, and he flinched. "Shit! What the fu-AHHHH!"

The demon fell to the ground howling in pain. Black smoke threatened to spew out of his mouth, but Hermione waved snapped her fingers and he swallowed it. He continued to flail on the ground, and his partner stared in bewilderment. "What'd you do to him?"

Hermione aimed at him, heart beating in her throat and frightened she'd used magic against a demon and it _worked_. "The same thing I'm going to do you if you don't take me to Crowley."

The demon regarded his partner and her tranq gun. "I can't just do that. The king is very busy and doesn't like to be bothered."

Not tearing her gaze away from him, Hermione shot another tranq dart at the already screaming demon. His yells increased tenfold and started begging for relief. "I will shove ten of these up your arse if you don't take me to him in the next five seconds."

The demon snarled at her. "I'll get you to a certain point. From there, you're one your own." He grabbed her arm, and they appeared outside of an old, run down asylum. The air was significantly colder, and snow was on the ground indicating they teleported hundreds of, if not a thousand, miles north.

"Where are we?" she asked. The demon didn't answer her but let go of her arm and disappeared.

Holstering her gun, Hermione tested the fence barricading the building and then climbed over it. Dark energies of demons circled the entire vicinity. It helped she could feel them before actually seeing them. With her tranq, she took down two to get inside. Once she did, though, she discovered that the asylum was practically a maze. She managed to get on the second floor and came upon locked cages and rooms. Many of them were occupied by people. From their small prison, they stared upon her. Fear and exhaustion plagued their features but none of them begged for her help. They stared warily at her and her gun, some of them even backing away to the far wall as she walked by.

These weren't humans, Hermione concluded. These were her hunts. This was where those shape-shifters and vampires went.

Hermione did her best to ignore them. She wasn't here for them, so she climbed up the main stairwell to the third floor and was bombarded with the sounds of crying infants and the scent of soiled diapers. The area was not like the level below but an open, filthy area with ten cribs. In each crib were two infants ranging from six to ten months old. Every one of them cried at her pleadingly, some of them even reaching up to her.

Hermione went up to the nearest crib and examined the two children closely. Both of them were crying but no actual tears were coming out. Their wails were hoarse and their lips chapped. On their flimsy blankets beneath their bottoms was a gooey, organic substance. Hermione poked at it.

These were baby shape-shifters.

"Lovely little monsters, aren't they?"

Hermione turned around and saw Crowley standing twenty feet away from her, an elated expression on his features.

"What are you doing with them?" Hermione asked.

"Darling," he drawled, his smirk obscene. "You don't want to know."

Suppressing the urge to vomit, Hermione knew she was going to do everything she could to kill Crowley that night. Monsters or not, these were babies. Hungry, thirsty babies. They hadn't done anything wrong. Not yet.

Despite the high amount of disgust coursing through her veins, she shakily holstered her tranq gun and said, "I have you three djinn in Grapevine. It marks thirty I've given you. Will you release Junior's soul now?"

"Thirty? Really?" Crowley beamed at her. " Papa's impressed. Sadly, however, the answer's no."

"It's been three months! I've delivered thirty to you!"

"I don't bloody care! We made a deal, sweetheart. You serve me as long as I see fit. The thirty you've given me are nothing but poppycock, so you get your pretty arse out there and keep your end of the bargain. If you don't, I will put Junior's soul right back into the furnace and kill you just because I can!"

Hermione pulled out her tranq and shot a dart at him. It landed right beneath his jawline, and he hissed but did not fall over like the rest of the demons. Instead, his eyes flashed red and he pulled out the dart. He examined it and said, "Holy salt water. Is that what you did to my men? Ingenious. Sorry, love. I'm the king, and the king is not so easily subdued."

"Release Junior," Hermione demanded through clenched teeth.

"Uh…no. Bugger off."

Hermione extended her arm and twisted her hand into a fist, making Crowley double over and grunt in pain. "Let Junior go!" she repeated.

Crowley smiled cruelly at her but was clearly still in pain. "Hurt me all you want, love. I was bloody molded by Alistair and Lillith, you blithering tart!"

"I wonder if I can kill you," Hermione said, surprising the both of them. Crowley's smirk turned icy and slipped away into a frown. "If I can hurt you, then maybe."

"You don't have the juice. You'll give yourself an aneurism."

With a flick of Hermione's arm, Crowley went flying into the far wall and pinned him there. She marched up to him and evenly offered, "Junior's soul out of hell now and I'll kill you quickly. You make things difficult, I will force your hand."

He chuckled. "Force my hand? You can't for-"

Hermione put two fingers to Crowley's forehead, silencing him. In her world, her kind could force other humans to do their bidding. It was damnable and wrong and Hermione didn't give a flying shit anymore. She should've done this the moment Crowley restored her magic.

Crowley's eyes rolled back into his head, and Hermione could feel his dark energy fighting her _hard_. She concentrated and hissed when feeling a sharp pinch in her brain. Blood flowed from her nose, she backed away cupping her forehead. Crowley slid from the wall and fell to his feet. He brushed off his expensive cloak and straightened his collar. He didn't seem pleased that he won the battle at all. In fact, he appeared down right peeved and maybe a little frightened.

"I think," he began calmly, "that Junior has been on ice long enough. He's probably quite frigid if you ask me. A little brimstone should warm him right up." He snapped his fingers and an attractive young brunette in a sleek power suit appeared beside him with a clipboard, an expectant smile in place.

"Yes, my king?"

"Will you return the soul of Vincent Valdini Jr. to his cage, please?"

The woman's eyes blackened and she nodded. "Yes, my king."

Hermione hardly noticed when the woman left. The throbbing in her skull was making her nauseous. God, she felt incredibly ill. She had no idea, in her restored state, her magic had limitations.

"Don't be so down on yourself, love," Crowley said. "I'm the king, and you're just another whore of Moose who doesn't know her place."

He snapped his fingers again, and Hermione felt the magic drain out of her body. Thinking as quickly as she could, she aimed her tranq at him again but the weapon flew across the room. Before she could even plan what to do next, Crowley put two fingers to her forehead and her world went black. When she woke up, she was naked and harnessed to a metal chair, wide leather straps covering her lady parts but exposing everything else.

Crowley stood beside her in a white apron, a tray of sharp instruments on a cart within arm's reach. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. I have no worries you won't answer. I'm rather persuasive." He picked up two sharp instruments from the tray. "Have a preference, love?"

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N**: Thank you readers, reviewers, followers, and etc. Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys it. I'd also like to thank those who are not familiar with _Supernatural_ for reading this. It's a good show, and I invite everyone to watch it. A lot of this story has so many references to the series, and I can't explain them all. Anyway, thanks again. :)

Also, in this chapter, I'm well aware Castiel told Hermione a big, fat lie. :)

A reminder that Blaine is Blaise Zabini from HP.

I'm sorry for any errors. I will be coming back and cleaning up.

Please read and review.

* * *

The scalding water reddened Hermione's skin within seconds of stepping into the shower. She stuck her head under the water and blindly unwrapped the motel soap from its plastic and scrubbed the blood off her body. The water at her feet turned an orangey pink, the hue darkening when she used the entire bottle of shampoo on her hair.

Hermione knew it was all in her head, but her body ached from Crowley carving into her. It was like her skin and muscles couldn't shake off the abuse even though she was completely healed.

Twenty minutes later, she turned off the water and wrapped herself into a towel and ran one through her hair. She padded into the motel room and saw Castiel sitting rigid at the edge of the bed watching the telly. _A __Charlie Brown Christmas _was on.

"Christmas is strange to me," the angel said. "Sam and Dean would give each other shaving cream and booklets of unclothed women. These cartoon children, they are not getting such things. I don't understand. Would you like me to get you such booklets and shaving cream?"

Hermione stared at him, blinking owlishly. "I'm surprised you're still here."

"I will stay with you for a while." He pinned her with a clear, blue-eyed stare. "Crowley is still alive and will be on the lookout for you. With your permission, I'd like to etch protective sigils into your ribs."

Hermione made a pained face and pulled a baggy t-shirt and some sweats out of her bag on the bed. "Why didn't you kill him?" With her towel still on, she pulled on the shirt and then the pants to preserve some modesty before removing it. Castiel already seen her naked, but she didn't want to make a habit out of it. That would be inappropriate and inconsiderate on her part. After all, he saved her. She was minutes away from bleeding out before he swooped in and saved her. Castiel knocked Crowley out and then put a hand to her forehead, her wounds closing and her blood replenished in a millisecond. He helped her out of the chair, told her to find her clothes and get dressed. Five minutes later, they were in a Boise, Idaho motel room, and the snow was coming down outside in golf-ball sized clumps.

"I found it more pressing to save your life and get you as far away from him as possible, Hermione," the angel informed gravely. "As well as take care of those infants you told me about."

"It's just…he's still out there. He's going to keep doing whatever he's doing. I don't know what he's up to, but it can't be good."

"You're right, but you should rest."

Hermione sat on the bed and shook her head. "Castiel, he told me you brought me back. Is that true?"

The angel sighed and silenced the telly with the remote and stood up. "Admittedly a mistake on my part. I had naively believed you would contact Sam and take care of him. Not anymore, but he once was calling out to me. From far away, I had watched over him and believed he needed someone to hunt with and keep an eye on him. I've known him to get into trouble when not looked out for properly. I did not consider that your feelings for Sam ran deep…like a ditch on the side of a road."

"Are you _miffed_ that I don't love Sam? I'm sure you're more upset about it than he is. And it's not like he loves me. Yeah, I'm sure he harbors feelings for me that are somewhere located in his pants. Yes, he's done nice things for me but, Castiel, after every case or day or _minute_ I've spent with Sam, I feel very used and insignificant in his life. So I'm _sorry_ he wasn't the first person I called when I woke up in England hungry, thirsty, without my magic, and _not_ wearing underwear of any kind."

"I knew I forgot something."

"_Castiel_."

"Yes?"

"You brought me back and left me without any means. Crowley is currently riding one of my close contacts from England. He was one of the first I called for help." Hermione wondered if she'd ever get the image of her papa slicing into her out of her head. "Did you know? Did you know who he was possessing all this time?"

"Of course not." Castiel ducked his head. "I mistakenly left you vulnerable and a prime target for him. There's a rumor going around that he's using hunters to do his dirty work. I suppose it's true. How did he draw you in?"

"He said if I brought him my hunts for however long, he'd release the soul of my friend."

Castiel turned around, peeved. "That was foolish. Crowley would not have held up his end of the bargain for a very long time. You would've been his bitch for months more if not years."

"Did you just say _bitch_?"

"What was your friend's name?"

"Junior. I mean…Vincent Valdini Jr. He trained me, you know?" Hermione smiled bitterly and snatched a pillow from the top of the bed and cuddled it. "Taught me how to hold my own in a row with any kind of monster he could think of."

Castiel walked over to her. "You're tired." He pressed two fingers to her forehead, and she slumped back, eyes closed. While she slept, he cupped her ribs and embedded the protective sigils he had once given to the Winchesters and Bobby to make in her invisible to demons. He drew protective symbols on the wall and then disappeared, not returning until one in the afternoon. Hermione was still asleep, so he sat in the chair closest to the window and waited, sometimes eavesdropping on her dreams. Her dreams weren't unlike Dean's. They were violent, gruesome, and exhausting. Every once in a while, though, a pleasant image would surface. For Dean, it was fishing at a lake and next to him, an ice cooler full of Del Sol.

For Hermione, her short-lived pleasant dreams were made up of soft couches and stacks of books. Castiel knew the woman thirsted for knowledge but hardly made any means to satiate that quench outside of research for cases.

"You're not as invisible as you think you are." Hermione looked up from the dusty, leather-bound book laying heaving on her lap. It was so dense, in fact, it was sinking her further into the mushy, scarlet couch she sat on.

Castiel stood in front of the fireplace. The tails of his trench coat was touching he flames, and he asked, "Where are we?"

Hermione closed her book and set it aside, the dust from the cover leaving grey smudges on her pleated uniform skirt. "A mixture a different places."

"What are you reading?"

"I can't remember. Every time I have this dream, I keep hoping the words will jump out at me." She ran a flat palm over the title-less tome. "But they never do." She closed her eyes for a long, drawn out moment, and inhaled sharply. When she awoke, she found Castiel sitting by the window of the motel staring at her.

"Regardless of what the telly tells you, women don't like being stared at while they sleep. It's creepy."

"I was simply keeping watch."

"Mmm." She got off the bed, ignoring the way her stomach growled loudly and went to her bag on the dresser. She shoved her arm into it and pulled out her laptop.

"Your hair…"

"Shut up." She put the laptop on the table Castiel was sitting at and then went to the coffee machine by the sink and started a brew of coffee.

"Are you looking for a hunt?"

She ripped open the package of coffee granules. "No." Once she had a cup of coffee in hand, she returned to the table and logged onto the internet. "I'm pricing plane tickets. I'm going back to England."

Hermione half-expected Castiel to argue with her or try to persuade her to stay. He did neither. "The soul of your friend has been delivered to heaven."

She paused mid-type on the Google search bar and whispered, "You did what?"

"It was a fairly easy mission. His cage was hardly protected unlike Dean's where several angels in my garrison suffered in the process of extracting him."

She nibbled on her knuckles and nodded, tears of relief stinging her eyes. "Thank you."

"You are welcome."

Hermione gave him a small, grateful smile and considered asking him to restore her magic but decided against it when remembering what she had done to Crowley before he tortured her. The power over him had intoxicated and endangered her. Surely, she'd be able to manipulate a lower level demon and with some practice Crowley again eventually. But now that she was calm, she couldn't believe what she tried to do. Demon or not, she tried to force a being by using unforgivable magic. Hermione knew if Castiel gave back her powers, she'd do it again. And again. And again. She wasn't perfect and was often temperamental out in the field. It was too risky, and she was a hunter. As such came a code of unspoken rules and ethics. One does their best not to become the prey. Walker, Sam—they both fell victim.

She was a witch. With or without her full use of magic did not change that, but having actual magic could change her. _Would_ change her and not for the best. Not when she's doing what she's doing.

"I have a Christmas gift for you," Castiel said and pulled out a twelve-inch, silver-white dagger from his trench coat and offered her the handle.

Hermione took it. "It's Boxing Day actually. Thank you. Is it special or just a pretty weapon?"

"It kills demons."

She hit him with a skeptical stare. "_Kills_ them? Like really kills them? Not just send them back to hell."

"Yes."

She tested the tip of the blade with the pad of her pointer finger. "What about the host?"

"They die, as well."

"Castiel," she started and put the dagger down. "I can't use this if the host is going to die."

"It is a terrible, unbalanced life for one who survives demonic possession. You are putting them out of their misery by saving them from a difficult road ahead of them."

"That doesn't make it okay to kill them."

"Hermione, if Crowley walked through that door and I was not here, you would not finish him?"

"That's different."

"How many witches have you killed?"

"That's different, too, and you know it."

Castiel slumped his shoulders. "It's not easy. Both Sam and Dean used to struggle with it. If they can, they will exorcise a demon. Encounters with them are not ideal, and it comes down to their life or a demon's. Hermione, you are a hunter. You will not let that demon walk if you can stop it. Do you understand?"

Hermione frowned and purposefully diverted her attention back to her computer. She needed to get back to England as soon and as cheap as possible. Her funds were low, so she knew she'd have to wait until after the New Year to fly over. Even when she got back to London, her wallet would be running on fumes. She'd have to make a stop in Atlanta City before New York to replenish her funds, but it wouldn't be enough. She hadn't the time to stay and save up. Junior may have taught her how to fight and win, but he didn't teach her how to keep quiet while being tortured.

Back in that building and on that chair, she told Crowley about Snape, Malfoy, and the others. Crowley now _wanted_ them. For what, he didn't say and it didn't matter.

* * *

**January 2, 2011**

**JFK Airport, New York City**

"Hey, it's Hermione. I just…wanted to let you know that I'm leaving. I'm about to board my flight, actually. Also...I don't think we'll be seeing each other again for a very long time." Hermione leant back into her hard seat at the terminal, watching as her fellow flyers lined themselves up at the gate, ready to board. "We may not see each other ever again. I don't plan to ever return to the States, so this is goodbye. Be careful out there, Sam."

Hermione ended the call and slipped the cellphone into her jacket and got in the back of the line at the gate. Twenty minutes later she was sitting on a red-eye to London with a blanket, pillow, and a ginger ale.

Sam would never call her back.

* * *

**Mid-January 2011**

**University of Westminster**

Hermione chose not yank on Snape's chain and participate in his now tri-weekly quizzes. She sat in the back of the large classroom half-listening to his lectures but mostly strategizing on how she was going to approach him and tell him his life was in danger. She supposed she could walk right up to him after class or in his office, but if he got word that she died, making herself known could cause a bit of a problem for him. People weren't used to seeing dead people come back to life. Even in the supernatural world, it was dodgy business. Dead things should stay dead and all that.

In the evenings when he retired from the lecture halls, Hermione stalked Snape by following him home. She wanted to know if any demon had made contact with him yet because Crowley had wanted names, and she spilled the whereabouts of Professor Prince and Detective Black.

Hermione could not be in two places at once. She had to choose between Snape and Malfoy, and she chose the first while keeping an eye on Surrey. Demons, when they arrived to an area, tended to make a grand entrance by violent lightning storms and committing heinous crimes. So far, both the weather and crimes were nothing out of the ordinary.

Since she spent so much time around and on the campus, Hermione left the hostel she was staying in and found a flat and a job at a café in the area. Because she was broke and, indeed, living within walking distance of a college campus, she had roommates. They were rarely ever seen during the day but often heard at night, for they were a married couple in their late twenties wanting to have a baby. To avoid them and their vocal enthusiasm for each other, she was more than happy to take any late shifts.

Hermione knew living with the couple, let alone living in Westminster, could not go on for too long. Legally working out in the open with a false identity was bound to catch up to her. Yet, surprisingly, it wasn't the law that caught up to her first.

* * *

**February 2, 2011**

It was a good five minutes before closing time, and Hermione was getting ready to turn off the cappuccino machine when a man stumbled in rubbing his gloved hands together and blowing on them. From the looks of his tweed attire, she guessed he was professor.

"Hot coffee or tea?" Hermione asked when the bloke walked up to the counter.

He pulled out a ten pound bill from his coat pocket and set by the till. "Hot tea, please. No lemon."

Hermione took the bill. "Anything else for you? Muffin or pastry?"

"Got any of those apple tarts?"

Hermione nodded and rung him up, giving him his change. "Take a seat. I'll bring one to you when it's ready."

The gentleman nodded and took up a barstool, his expression growing queer. Hermione ignored the look and placed a teabag filled teacup in front of him before pouring a bit of hot water into it. Once his tart warmed up in the toaster oven, she placed it next to his drink and he asked, "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so."

"Studying at the uni? I teach Folklore &amp; Lit there ." The gentlemen dropped a cube of sugar into his tea and stirred. "But I don't think that's it."

Hermione assured herself that she had never seen him before. He was tall and had light brown eyes. His hair was covered by a snow cap, but she assumed his hair matched his eyes. His features were handsome but not striking or memorable.

The man drank his tea and ate his tart, and she took the opportunity to flip the switch on the open sign and start cleaning up. Once he finished, she was putting away the last portion of clean dishes behind the counter when he said, "I heard a rumor."

Tossing her dish towel aside, Hermione stared at him inquisitively. "No, they are not going to cancel_ Downton Abbey._"

"I heard a rumor," the man repeated, "that you died."

"Pardon?"

"And you stand before me living and breathing and serving me tea."

"I believe you have me confused with someone else, sir."

"No, it's you."

"I think you should leave." She went to walk away from the counter to the swing door leading to the back kitchen when the man grabbed her hand. A moment later, the side of his face was smashed against the counter and the curved side of his teaspoon was pressed under his right eye.

"I said," Hermione hissed, "I think you should leave."

He laughed nervously. "They told me you died. They told me you were _ashes_."

Hermione pressed the spoon deeper into the man's flesh. "Who are you?"

"I'm like you. I got here the same way you did."

Hermione discarded the spoon in favor of pulling his left arm at an awkward angle and lifting up his the sleeves of his jacket and sweater. The black skull and snake greeted her, and he groaned in pain. "You're going to break my arm."

"We are nothing alike. What did they call you before you came here?"

"Theodore Nott."

Hermione put more pressure on his arm, vaguely remembering that one of the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries was called Nott. This man was probably some corroded, wretched offspring. "And what do they call you now?"

"The same. _God_, could you loosen up, woman?"

"You're one of _them_."

"I'm retired," he said in a pained gasp. "Turns out it was a bad career move on my part, _obviously_."

Hermione put a smidgen more pressure, knowing if she put even the slightest more, his arm would break. "Aside from Snape and Malfoy, how many more of you are there?"

"What? You're barking? Ahhhh! Okay! Okay! I'll tell you. Just let go of my arm."

Hermione kept a hand on the side of his face, keeping him in place on the counter. This time, she threatened his eye with a butter knife instead of a spoon. "Go on," she urged.

"I only know about the ones who went before me. Who came after, I haven't the foggiest."

"How many?"

"Eight, I think."

"Who were they?"

"You're mad if you think I'm going to tell you," he spat. "Honor and all that."

Teasingly, Hermione brushed the dull but serrated blade of knife on the delicate skin beneath Nott's eyelash. "I can be rather persuasive. Best be careful, Nott."

"Listen…Granger, right? I'm a professor now. I've a wife. A daughter. I'm not bothering anyone."

Hermione pointedly tapped the butter knife, "I want names, and I want places."

"You can gauge my eye out. Go on ahead. Prove you're so much better than any of us, but I'm not going to tell you."

His goading made her pause, and he was able to catch her off guard and knock both hands her hands off him, and like that, he was out the door running. She contemplated chasing after him, but he wasn't going anywhere. Not really. He wasn't frightened of her enough to flee the city or his job. Her worries came from the possibility that he was going to blab to someone important like the police that Hermione Granger was alive.

Hermione cleaned up the shop, broke into the manager's office, erased the last thirty minutes of the video surveillance feed, locked up, and dropped the keys off in her manager's mailbox two blocks away.

Within four days, Hermione had a file on Theodore Nott. Like he said, he was a professor at Westminster like Snape. He, indeed, did have a wife and daughter. His daughter was three years old and enrolled in nursery school, and his wife Candice was a florist.

Hermione closed the file, putting it into a box and sliding it underneath her bed. Moans of delight filtered through the wall, and she put on some earphones and got onto her laptop and saw that her newsfeed was coming through. A video clip popped up, and she clicked on the arrow to play it.

"_Such a horrific tragedy. A family murdered last night right here in Addlestone. The victims were forty-year old Hank Sherman, his wife Natalie, and their three children Thomas, Packard, and Hannah. Investigators say that their home was left vulnerable after a power outage during a lightning storm two nights ago. It was their neighbor who made the report."_

Hermione pulled up another screen, fetched Shermans' address, and dressed in a pair of black trousers, boots, and a warm coat. Before leaving her flat, she checked her hair in the mirror on the wall of the sitting room and then grabbed her umbrella from the front closet. Ten minutes later, she was driving towards Surrey in a car she stole from the parking lot of a nearby gentlemen's club. It would be faster to have taken the tube, but if she showed up to the crime scene with an Interpol badge but not a vehicle, that would like all kinds of suspicious.

Once she arrived at the house, she righted her clothes and hair and stepped out of the car, taking in the police, the coroner, and the criminal science investigators. She approached the tape acting as a barricade and ducked under it.

"Excuse me, miss." An officer ran over to block her from going any further. "This is a bloody crime scene if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I noticed." Hermione flashed her badge at the officer. "Officer Rebekah Hansen."

He frowned. "We didn't receive a call saying you were coming. I didn't even know Interpol would be interested in a run of the mill murder case."

"That's something between you and your supervisor, Officer…"

"Everett."

"Right. Now if you'll allow me to do my job." She brushed by him and climbed up the stone steps to the open front door of the Shermans' home. The moment she walked in, a heady wave of bloody corpse assaulted her nose. She climbed the stairs and poked her head into each one of the bedroom, seeing spattered tarp-covered forms on the mattresses.

"All murdered in their sleep. The killer didn't mess around and made it quick," Officer Everett said.

Hermione went into the master bedroom again and walked to the window, pulling the drapes aside. Yellow, crystal-like powder coated the ledge. She brought some up to her nose and inhaled.

Sulfur.

"You got something, Hanson?" the officer asked.

"I do believe the killer came through this window."

"Do you now?" he quipped. "How?"

There wasn't a tree or anything for that matter on the side of the house that would aid someone in getting to the master bedroom.

"Very good question," she said and turned towards the bed, nudging her head. "May I?"

"I'll get you some gloves."

When the officer returned with a pair of Latex gloves, she shoved them on and lifted the tarp to expose Hank Sherman and his wife Natalie, their throats ripped out. Since Natalie was the closest to Hermione, she gingerly lifted the left sleeve of the woman's nightdress before doing the same to her husband. Neither had a Dark Mark.

"Looking for something?" the officer asked.

"There's are several cases I'm working on. Similar to this one from the looks of it, but not identical. The killer leaves a calling cards on the left forearms of his victims," Hermione lied. "And it was the neighbor who made the report. I'd like to speak him or her."

"He's already been briefed thoroughly. You're welcome to read the original report at the station. I'd just hate to bother him and since he feels that this is too personal for him, he's been removed from the case."

"Sorry?"

"The neighbor is one ours, officer. Detective Black. Didn't your superiors debrief you?"

"Is that right?" she whispered.

The policeman arched a brow. "You know him?"

"We've met on occasion. Officer Everett, I do think I'd like to speak to him."

"He's been removed from the case."

"As a man of the law. Nevertheless, he's as much of a witness…or even a suspect since there doesn't seem to be one as of yet. He lives there?" She pointed east.

"With all due respect, officer, I'd appreciate it if you didn't start accusing one of our finest without further investigating.

"Which I will, but I need to speak with him. There's no need to bring him to the station. I'll just drop by and ask a few questions."

Officer Everett tossed an irritated glare at her. "He's at The White Hart."

Hermione nodded and removed the gloves. "Thank you. I'll swing by the station to pick up that report."

* * *

Malfoy was sitting at the bar, eyes closed and cupping his forehead. In his free hand, he held a half-empty glass of whiskey. Tentatively, Hermione joined him by sitting on the neighboring bar stool and calling out to the bartender. "I'll have what he's having."

Eyes still shut, Malfoy mumbled, "I'm not going to be much company tonight, miss. I suggest you find another bloke to warm your bed tonight."

The bartender slid the full glass of whiskey to Hermione. Hermione took a small sip, and then licked her lips. Not bad but the beer here was better. "Don't ever think for a second I'd have any interest in _you_ warming my bed, Malfoy."

Expectedly, his eyelids peeled back and he nearly fell off the barstool.

"Don't make a scene!" she hissed and nudged her head to one of the far, secluded corners in the bar. "Let's talk."

She took her drink and left him hyperventilating at the bar and found her a cozy table in the corner far away from others. By the time Malfoy stumbled over to her, she was done with her drink and already sporting a light buzz.

Blast!

Malfoy took the seat across from her, a mug of coffee with him. "How are you're here?"

"It's a very long and complicated tale, but I think I want to ask you a few questions first."

The man rubbed his temples and said, "I thought Nott was off his bloody meds."

"Malfoy!" she snapped. "Pay attention. This is important."

He blinked and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're a criminal, and I need to arr-"

Hermione grabbed his wrist and squeezed tightly, catching his undivided attention. He stared at her hand, and she asked, "Did you speak to anyone within the last while who had red eyes? Or black, for that matter?"

"Bla—What? Black eyes? I don't…" He brought the mug to his lips and guzzled the rest of the coffee. He sighed and set down the mug. "Red eyes. A woman."

"A woman," Hermione repeated.

"But that's not possible."

"A woman, Draco," Hermione pushed, surprising the both of them at the use of his first name.

"Drake," Malfoy said. "But don't call me that, either."

"A woman."

He shook his head. "She looked like that tart. You know the one on the telly. She's a Yank and orange and vile." He snapped his fingers. "Snookie."

Hermione scoffed and sat back in her chair, her leg jiggling. "You've got to be…never mind. What did Snookie say to you?"

"I was here a week ago scouting for a shag when the bint showed up. Thought she was looking for a date. Her voice was obnoxious, and her skin color was weird. Didn't like it. Tried to veer her off, but then she said she knew what I was and that I wasn't from here. She said she could help me get my magic back, but I had to have a meeting with her boss first."

"And did you?"

"No," he sputtered. "Thought she was on drugs and told her to get help and bugger off. Then she got angry. Started making threats. She said if I didn't align myself with her _king_, the consequences would be bloody. She disappeared after that and then later showed up at my house with a man. He had black eyes. They forced themselves in and made the same pitch. God, they were strong. Unnaturally strong. Told me it could get really bad if I didn't make a deal.

"They knew what I was, Granger," he said quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not my name. Not My real name, but they didn't seem to care about that. They just _knew_. I wonder if these were the kind of people Lestrange got himself messed up with."

"You told them no," Hermione assumed.

"Yeah. What they were trying to sell was impossible."

Hermione nibbled her lips and solemnly confessed, "This is my fault."

"What is? Snookie?"

"No. Yes. Malfoy—"

"Black."

"_Black_, I got into a spot of trouble not too long ago. There are things out there, very bad, murderous things that feel threatened by people like us. Witches. Wizards. There are some that want to find us. They found you. Demons—"

"_Demons?!"_

"—tend to make a statement when they arrive someplace."

Draco smeared a hand down his face. "I don't even bloody know what to say that."

"Say you believe me. Say you believe it all. You saw that red smoke come out of Lance Redford. You saw that woman with red eyes. You saw that man had black eyes. They were strong. Stronger than they ought to be. They killed your neighbors because you refused their offer. Do you want to know the worst part? That was a warning. They will kill again up until you agree or until they feel you're not worth keeping alive."

"But I-" A buzzing sound interrupted him. Malfoy pulled out his cellphone, looked at the caller ID and answered. "Christ, do I have something to tell you."

Hermione watched Draco bristle and the color leave his face. His Adam's apple bobbed and he quietly said, "I'll be there in ten minutes." He hung up the phone and leapt from his chair, and Hermione was on his heels.

"What's going on?"

"This doesn't concern you."

"Was it _them_? Malfoy, if it was, you are not prepared to face them alone. Or at all." She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to face her. "This is my fault. Let me fix it. I know how to deal with them."

He shirked her hand and growled, "Don't follow me. Next time I see you, I'm arresting you."

"Malfoy." She grabbed at him again to stop him, and he yanked at her wrist.

"Never call me that. Now get away from me. When I'm done with all this, I'm coming for you." The man stared at her like she was some vile, putrid monster and then walked out of the bar. Hermione stared after him for a few seconds before holding up the cellphone she snuck out of Malfoy's pocket. She cracked the code on the screen and saw the that Blaine Zachary just called him. From there, she got Zachary's address, email, and picture. She recognized him as the man she attacked in that Redford's house two years prior. He must be Malfoy's partner. She stuffed the phone into her pocket and dove into her stolen car and pushed on the gas. When she got to Zackary's house, Malfoy was at the front door, tranq pistol ready.

"What the hell?" he cursed and waved at her to go away.

"Step away from the door," she hissed at a full run. He refused to move, so she knocked her shoulder into him before firing two shots at the doorknob and kicked the door open. The lights were off and glass crunched underneath her boots. Malfoy came up behind her and fired a tranq dart. She dodged the shot and slammed her elbow back into his solar plexus and then in between his eyes. He fell again, disoriented but not unconscious. "Stay there," she said and pulled from her coat the dagger Castiel gave her. She crept through the house, listening for any sound and smelling a faint whiff of sulfur.

She rounded the corner and saw a light coming shining through the open door. Slowly, she walked to the threshold and saw lit candles everywhere and Malfoy's partner tied to a wooden chair. He was bleeding from the mouth and had a deep gash on his head. A body lay on the blood-stained carpet beside him. She was young and very much dead. Hermione tried not to be distracted by the gory, empty cavity between the woman's breasts.

"Forgive me. I lost my temper with his wife," a voice said from behind her. Hermione turned around and saw a demon wearing a tall and muscular, dark-skinned man. He was sitting behind a desk, and his eyes flashed black. "I was expecting a man, but I can't complain when Sam Winchester's pretty little whore comes waltzing in so willingly. Crowley's going to promote me when I give him three freaks for the price of one." One long, thick finger was inside a chalice stirring. He pulled it out, the digit covered in red. "When I dug my fingers inside her chest, Blaine made all the lights in the house explode. Fascinating, if I do say so myself."

Hermione stole another glance at Blaine, knowing he must be a Death Eaters, as well. Her eyes flickered to back to the dead woman and saw that the blood around her was still wet and shiny. The kill was fresh. So fresh in fact, that the scent hadn't even hit Hermione's nose yet.

She fired a shot into the demon's throat, and he howled in pain and leapt from behind the desk, charging towards her. She fired another shot, this one in his knee, and he fell before her feet. Putting a boot in between his shoulder blades, she kept him flattened and plunged Castiel's blade deep into his back, severing the spinal cord. Never before had Hermione seen a demon die, and it was nothing like she imagined. The host's skeleton flared through the skin, igniting an orangey-red. It was like he was being electrocuted.

The body slackened, and Hermione rushed to Blaine and was untying him when Malfoy stumbled in.

"Jesus Christ!" His eyes widened in horror at the scene, dampening quickly. "Did you-"

"Don't you dare think I did that to her!" she screamed, tears blurring her vision. This was all her fault. A woman died. An innocent woman. God, if she'd known it'd come to this. There weren't enough sharp instruments in the world to make her say shit.

"Malfoy. Malfoy, listen to me. We need an ambulance."

* * *

The doctor shined a light bright light into Malfoy's eye. Malfoy blinked and steered away from it and then glanced at Hermione as if he feared she'd taken off in the two seconds he took his eyes off her. She had stood at the threshold of the small doctor's office for the last ten minutes, waiting for the doctor to arrive and keeping an eye on Malfoy. One of the EMTs suggested that Malfoy may have gone into shock.

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked the doctor

"Just a little dazed and bruised. He'll be fine," she said and stood up from her stool. "I'll fetch him a drink of water and an ice pack. Would you care for some water, as well?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Hermione looked at her hands. Her bloodied hands with reddish-black crusty residue underneath her fingernails. She let the doctor pass by her before going to the sink and washing her hands. When drying them, she turned to Malfoy and said, "I'm sorry about your partner and his wife."

Malfoy looked away from her, gingerly rubbing the bruised bump on his forehead. "He'll come out of it."

Hermione opened and then closed her mouth, not having the heart to tell him that his partner wasn't going to wake up from his coma and would most likely pass away in the night. She spoke with the CAT technicians, fMRI technicians, and the surgeon. They were going to do their best but the brain was swelling rapidly.

"I hope so," she offered, whether she meant it or not. Her true guilt, however, lied in Zachary's wife. Hermione had gotten some background information on her, and Mrs. Zachary had been completely ordinary. She was a primary teacher at one of the local schools and over several charities.

"Do you?" Malfoy asked.

Sighing, she sat down on the chair across from him. "He was a Death Eater, right?"

"He has been a police officer longer. A good man. He didn't deserve this. Tanya, especially didn't. She was just a woman a-and her heart..." He closed his eyes, color draining from his face. "Who could do something like that? Physically, I mean. That man you killed. How did he do it?"

"Are you willing to listen this time?" she said softly. "It's important that you do. There will be more coming for you, and I can help you. First, though, you need to believe everything I'm about to say."

Malfoy inhaled sharply, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me, but I want you start from the beginning. From the moment you arrived here in '96 leading up till now. You want me to believe you and in monsters, then persuade me."

To be continued...


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Thank you readers, reviewers, and followers.

Snipped of Info: I found it better to not condense Hermione's background into one chapter. It would be too heavy and too unrealistic of Hermione to spout off so much personal information in a short amount of time to Draco. From the upcoming chapters, we will know more and more about her life.

Anyway, hope this chapter is a great read! I will do a clean-sweep or several like always, but feel free to point out any grammatical or punctuations errors.

Please R&amp;R!

* * *

Hermione debated the croissant over a sugar biscuit. Her stomach needed food, but she found herself considering decaf over caffeinated instead. She glanced at her watch and grabbed a dinky, Styrofoam cup from the cafeteria drink counter and filled it with espresso. It wasn't like she was going to get any sleep for the night anyway.

Once snapping the plastic lid on the cup, she sipped at the scalding liquid and said to the man looming behind her, "Be grateful I didn't leave."

"Why didn't you?" Malfoy asked. "You could be back in London now. From there, anywhere. Admit it, Granger. You want to talk."

"I never want to talk."

He reached by her to grab a cup. Filling it to the brim, he replied, "If I didn't know you were you, I'd think you were some abominable doppelgänger. You are nothing like how you ought to be, Granger."

"You're disappointed. Why? We are nothing to each other and never were. We attended the same school for all of five years in our life. During that time, I wanted nothing more than for you to go away. Didn't matter how. I wanted you gone, and so did everyone else. You were vile and hardly worth remembering or reflecting upon when I came here."

"Tell me how you really feel," Malfoy mumbled, the slightest shade of pink rouging his cheeks.

"Needless to say, I experienced disappointment, as well, when discovering you became a Death Eater. Yet, I suppose it wasn't that surprising. Your father was there the night I fell through the veil as per request of his master. Your aunt and uncles were all for the cause, as well. Along with that, your hatred for Muggle-Borns was no secret."

"Stop." Malfoy shuffled away from her and sat down at the nearest table in the cafeteria.

She joined him, smirking. "I'm just _talking_."

"This was supposed to be about you and when you arrived here. How am I supposed to give you the benefit of the doubt when you keep talking about me?"

"Aside from actually knowing what's out there, telling you about my life and monsters are not going to benefit me in the least. I've lived a very long time with people believing the worst about me. You're just another."

"With a badge and handcuffs and files full of reasons to arrest you."

Hermione tapped the lid of her coffee pensively and then leaned forward. "Life for me," she began hesitantly, "was very unpleasant when I arrived."

"As your juvenile files alluded."

"You read them."

"They were colorful. Not as artful as your criminal record, but page-turning nonetheless. On the ninth of June of '96, you were escorted from a homeless shelter in London to the nearest police station. By this time, you had been gone exactly one week from our world.

"After some questioning, they were able to extract enough information suggesting you were a minor, an orphan, and a full-fledged liar. They contacted a spotty psychiatrist who made up some woebegone tale about you because you decided right then and there to become mute for the next six months. So, Granger, tell me about those first seven days. Did you bruise your arse in Piccadilly Circus like the lot of us did?"

"I woke up in an alley to a homeless man groping my chest and unzipping my pants."

The simper on Malfoy's face faded, and his mouth pressed into a thin, perturbed line, and he said, "And you didn't report it?"

Hermione chuckled bitterly. "After screaming like a goddamn banshee, and they are real by the way, I raked my fingers across his eyes. Call me merciful, but I thought blinding him was punishment enough."

Draco stared at her fingernails drumming on the table as if he could still see the bits of flesh and blood caked underneath."What else?"

"I thought…" Hermione shrugged. "The veil put me back in the Muggle World and all I needed was to find the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. The phone booth wasn't far from. It looked exactly the same but obviously didn't work. I had guessed it had gotten shut down because of all the chaos going on at the ministry, so I went to Charring Cross Road. Took me a while to get there. I hadn't money for the tube or anything."

"You probably drove yourself spare trying to get back," Draco surmised.

"I then went to the shelter. Gave my name and lied about my age. I stayed there five days before the manager suspected I was a minor and a runaway. She contacted some social workers who brought me to the police station. After a bit of badgering, I confessed my real age, but they couldn't find any record of me or my parents, any of my family. The police and the social workers believed I was a pathological liar."

"Which stuck," Draco said. "It was all over your files."

"I'm sure a lot of things were drenching them."

Draco got up from the table and fetched himself a refill. Hermione took advantage of the small break and stretched in her chair, glancing at her watch.

"Was this when you realized you weren't in your own world?" he asked upon returning. "At the police station."

"I wasn't positive until a few days later when I managed to get enough money for a tube ride to here. To Surrey. My parents lived here…or _there_. But they weren't here. My home. The house I grew up in. The property was still there, but the house was completely different."

"That's what you did with the money."

Hermione frowned.

"The money you stole from Mrs. Tanner, your first foster parent."

She paled and felt queasy to her stomach, having forgotten about _them_. Them being all the people her social worker dumped her with. Mrs. Blakely Tanner and her husband Fletcher were the first, but by no means the worst.

"Yes," Hermione said. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about them. _Any_ of them. They have nothing to do with what I'm going to spring on you."

That bastard went on like he hadn't heard her. "You were in foster care two years. In that time, six families. Why your social worker didn't just bloody stick you in an institute until you graduated is beyond me. You clearly had no respect for any of them. Stealing from them. Lying to them. Seducing sons and husbands."

"I did _not_…" Hermione pressed three fingers to her mouth to keep from losing her shit. She closed her eyes, breathed through her nose, and counted to ten. At ten, she said in a calm, but firm voice, "I stole from them. All of them, I admit it. I lied to them, and I lie to everybody. All the time. But I did _not_ seduce anyone when I was in those homes. Malcolm Gregory and Leonard Wilcox—those are who you are talking about, right?—lied and false information got put into my record. And when I defended myself, I was to blame. No one believed me when I said that kind and charitable Mr. Wilcox sat on my bed when I was sleeping and tried to undress me like I wouldn't notice. And then when I did wake up, he grabbed my hand and put it on his-"

"Granger-"

"-prick. I whacked him across the face thirteen times with an encyclopedia because he deserved it. And Gregory?"

Draco's expression pinched regretfully, but she wasn't backing out now. He brought this up, so she was going to finish it.

"Had been really nice. His parents, too. Unlike the other children I dealt with in foster care, Gregory never spoke unkindly to me. When he introduced me to his friends, he called me his sister. I assumed he was just trying to be extra sensitive to my situation. Everyone knew I hadn't a family. From his behavior, I had no reason to believe he was attracted to me. And I really, _really_ wanted a friend.

"The day after I graduated and was getting ready to leave his parents' house and put the foster system behind me, we were walking through Hyde Park. He said he wanted to ask me something. I thought it was going to be something like how we should stay in contact after I left. That wasn't it. He asked me to move in with him because he and two of his friends were going to rent a flat near Kingston."

"And you told him no."

"I told him I didn't know. I wanted to live in the city. I would get paid better there when I found employment."

"Plus, better uni options."

"I hadn't planned on going to college."

"You had every campus recruiter humping the Gregorys' welcome mat." He mockingly repeated, "_I hadn't planned on going to college_. Your life would've turned out loads better if you had gone to uni, Granger. You tossed your future away for what? A life of law-breaking and violence? And _monster_ hunting?"

"You sit there, and you judge me." Hermione shook her head and folded her arms. "We both know how you got here, Malfoy. Why you got here, and it's fine that you made something of yourself. You blended in and kept your nose clean, but that doesn't change what you did as a Death Eater."

"You have no idea what I did."

"It was bad enough to get pushed through the veil."

"It was war. I picked the wrong side and regret my choices every day, but I had to adapt."

"So did I! You had Snape. You had Nott and Blaise. You had whoever else! Me? I did not have a goddamn support system. I had nothing here. No one to make my life easier to live. This place was not where I was supposed to be, and I was not going accept it. This not my home. Malfoy," she dropped her voice, "this is not our home. We don't belong here. It's not designed for people like us, and we can't hide like before."

"There's nothing we can do about it, is there? We can't go back because there isn't a way."

Hermione sighed. "I know." God, did she ever.

Malfoy stirred his coffee and dumped in four creamers two packets of sugar, and she recalled Sam taking his coffee the same way. She inwardly cursed, hating that she was thinking about him because she knew he wasn't returning the favor. Absentmindedly, she rubbed at the pendent on her wrist and then gave the same treatment to the anti-possession charm. She was then startled when Malfoy abruptly grabbed her wrist.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

He rotated he wrist to better expose the bracelets. He touched the anti-possession charm and said, "This was around your urn. That Vincent fellow put it there before he took it."

"You met him?" Hermione yanked her wrist away.

"He claimed your body and ordered you to be cremated. Took your ashes back to Italy with him. Reminded me of Potter, that one."

"Shut up," she whispered and thought back to when Castiel told her he hadn't known Crowley possessed her papa. If he had gone to the Valdini household, how could he have not known?

"Something the matter?"

"I don't know." She pulled out her phone and dialed Castiel's number and pressed send.

"_I don't understand. What does that-" Beep!_

"This is Hermione. Call me back. I have something ask you."

She pocketed her phone, and Malfoy asked, "May I ask who that was? Another monster-seeker or whatever?"

"Or whatever," Hermione murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching. Malfoy may feel ready to know about monsters, but she doubted he was ready to hear about angels.

"You never finished telling me your side of the Malcolm Gregory story."

"I'd rather just elaborate on all the murder charges against me."

"He wanted you to go live with him and his mates, and you told him you weren't sure about it. You wanted to live in the city."

"Uh…" She rubbed her forehead and then her eyes. God, she was tired. It was late…or early. "Yes. And then he started saying rubbish about how much he loved me and how badly he wanted to be with me. I told him I was flattered and didn't see him that way. Instead of taking rejection like a normal human being, he forced me into a kiss. I stomped on his foot and then slapped him before running back to the house. When he got home, I had hoped to speak with him and salvage our friendship but then he told his parents we were sleeping together and that I gave him gonorrhea. Needless to say, my four-week grace period after graduation turned into me leaving before dinner. And because I was eighteen and done with school and simply a pain in the arse to everyone, my social worker was done with me. He had a job for me lined up at the Nordic Bakery, but I was on my own. I worked there and lived in a shelter until I saved up enough money for a deposit on a room in a flat shared by two other girls."

"Strippers, right?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Exotic dancers."

"They took off their clothes for money. Strippers."

"Exotic dancers, and they hated what they were doing. Most of the girls did at Platinum &amp; Lace."

"Did you hate it, too?"

She looked down at her lap, licking her teeth and embarrassed that he knew this about her. "More than anything. I wasn't making my rent just working at the bakery, and I couldn't afford groceries. I wasn't going to go back to the shelter, so I _danced_ and served drinks to fat, old perverts who tipped generously."

"This is where you met Valdini."

"Yes." She wondered what kinds of things Malfoy and her fallen friend had talked about two years ago. Most likely lies with increments of truths. "He came in impersonating an officer, but at the time, I thought he was a real one. He'd ask the girls, the manager, and the bouncers questions and sometimes stay for an act and a drink. He wanted to know if there were new girls, but there's always high turnover in a place like that.

"One night when I was the last one out, I was locking up and got caught in a crossfire between Vincent and the siren he was looking for. I was injured but after I healed, I tracked him down to his family restaurant and badgered him and his family to teach me about the supernatural. It was the closest thing I found to home, you know? Obviously, Vincent outright refused, but his father relented and gave me books. Lots and lots of books. He also gave me a job and a room with a bed. He told me I had to learn how to kill before learning how to fight.

"The books, they spoke of the kind of things existing in our world like vampire, werewolves, ghosts, and witches. They were different, though. Vampires will drain you. Werewolves will eat your heart. Ghosts will slaughter you in any way they can. As for witches, Malfoy, there is no pure white magic in this world. Wiccan-work is grey at best. The person performing the spells have no power over what they are doing but letting the universe, and often times, demons doing the dirty work for them."

Malfoy rubbed a fingertip down the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he muttered a "shit" and then fished his phone out of his pocket. Hermione had given it back to him before they had gone to the hospital. He read something on the screen and then looked at the cafeteria exit. "Severus is here."

Arching a brow, Hermione inquired, "He sent you a text?" She found it hard to imagine Snape thumbing a cellphone's keyboard.

Draco got up from his chair and pocketed his cellphone, looking at her pointedly. "You're coming."

"Uh...no. We'll have to pick this up another time." She hurriedly pulled out a faded receipt from her coat pocket and penned down her phone number. She offered it to Malfoy and when he went to grab it, she moved it out his reach. "You will not tell Snape or anyone else what I just told you. Not about what happened to me when I got here and definitely not about the supernatural."

"What about you being alive?"

Hermione pursed her lips and offered the phone number once more. Again, she whipped it out of his reach when he got too close. He glared at her, and she said, "More will come, Malfoy. For you. For Snape. For Nott. Anyone who came through that veil has a price on their head. Snape _will_ be next. They will go after him and anyone he cares about. He has a wife, right?"

Draco's demeanor shifted into something feral, and he violently took the slip of paper from her. "What is this for exactly?"

"Call me when you're ready to know how to fight off demons. I can teach you if you're willing to learn. If you're not and too much of _Muggle_ now and use my number to have me arrested, know this. I will get free and I will hand you over to the king of hell in exchange for being left alone. And, Malfoy, he's a lot more persuasive than Snooki."

Hermione then got up from the table, refilled her coffee cup and left the cafeteria.

The man glowered at her shadow before staring at the number again. He flipped it over to read the receipt and snorted. "I'm being threatened by a woman who buys Disney princess knickers and Karamel Sutra ice cream."

* * *

**Three Days Later...**

Hermione watched from afar at Addlestone Cemetery as two polished caskets, one dark brown and the other a pinkish pink, were lowered into the ground. Surrounding them was the entire Surrey Police Department dressed in their finely pressed uniforms. Closest to the coffins were the priest, Malfoy, Nott, Snape, and Snape's wife. Hermione hadn't seen her before and she wasn't necessarily seeing her now. Mrs. Prince had on a black hat and a black veil obscuring her features.

During the priest's prayer, Malfoy caught her stare, and she thought the police uniform suited him. The pink eyes and the lone tear slipping down his face did not. That night, after the force dispersed from the locals pubs very drunk and solemn from the loss of their fallen comrade Blaine Zachary and his wife Melissa, Draco called and asked what he needed to do keep who he had left alive.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I'm baaaaaaaack!**

**So get ready. ;)**

**Thank you, readers and followers and those who have patiently awaited this chapter while I found love in _Once Upon a Time _(Captain Swan!) of all things! My muse is not lost, I promise. It was just put on hold while I assessed another situation.**

**Thank you birningice, Country Chick-a-dee, jazz, , In Memory Of Yesterday, AnnieAC, Shadowhunter02, felicitoussyntax, chibi-Clar, kitkatscratch, dragonwingedangel, ElianaxIsabella, and Mr. RobertsIII for the reviews.**

**Enjoy the chapter. It's kind of a...well...just tell me what you think it is. I'm sorry for any mistakes and feel free to point them out, so they can be remedied.**

* * *

**April 3, 2011**

Hermione stared at the faded ink on the thin, scriptural pages of her manuscript on the desk in Snape's guest bedroom. When her mind failed to process the ancient Latin text, she moved her focus to the picture beside it and bore into a sketching of Guido Reni's Michael.

She needn't be reading out of this manuscript. The apocalypse hadn't happened, but she needed something to direct her thoughts elsewhere, and she forgot her book on protective sigils at her flat. Today she had planned to instruct Draco on how to draw the Key of Solomon, but she guessed it would have to wait until the following night. Two months prior after Blaise's funeral, she and Draco agreed to meet twice a week at Snape's for learning key points about protection against demons, angry spirits, and the like.

"Do I have it down?" asked Malfoy. He was sitting on the guest bed behind her and she should've given him the desk when they came up here, but she wanted to feel closed off and distant from him. Not just him but from everything and everyone.

Hermione got up from her seat to check what he did wrong this time. Not bothering to look at him, she took the hex bag from his palm and deftly untied it and studied the contents inside.

"You have too much soil." She dropped the bit of canvas and its innards into the rubbish bin next to the bedside table. "Do it again."

Ignoring his offended glower, she sat back down at the desk and flipped the rather pricey page of the manuscript, exhaling sharply when it tore at the bottom. She pinched the bridge of her nose and then pressed massaging fingers into her eyes. It was like a part of her yearned to cry, even lash out at no one in particular. Another part of her, the more logical side, told her if she was going to tear up, she should do so in relief. She had well and truly dodged a bullet.

Hermione caught sight of the hospital band on her wrist and self-consciously tugged on the sleeve of her thick sweater. She forgot to cut it off, and if she did so now, Malfoy would notice and get curious. He had grown rather fond of asking about her person life, wanting to know her adventures and all the creatures she'd come across. He had once asked about the most frightening thing she faced, and she said the spirit of the little girl from _The Ring. _He believed her for five minutes before catching her lie.

What was she supposed to say? The devil was real, and she met him, and he killed her. That he was the reason why their kind came to this world instead of dying like they should have when falling through the veil.

Malfoy had badgered relentlessly, and she finally told him of her second most frightening thing she faced which was a Nasnas, a creature that could skin somebody alive by merely touching them. She told him that she came across two in Reno, Nevada back in 2003. Malfoy then regarded her with an inquisitive expression and said he remembered reading in her files that she "dropped bodies" there, one of them being a bloke named Saad Daher.

Hermione had shut down the conversation with a potent, murderous look. Since then, his pestering questions about her life had decreased but in no way vanished. Mostly, he asked about the differences between the species of this world and their own. Malfoy seemed rather put out that unicorns were unique to only their home realm.

"I already saw it," she heard him say regarding the hospital band. "Is that why you were late?"

Yes and no. She had gotten released from the E.R. hours before she needed to be at Snape's for dinner and Malfoy's lesson. After that, she gone to her flat and laid on her bed for a very, very long time. The physician had prescribed her a sleeping medication, and Hermione had contemplated taking three. Not enough to kill her but enough to knock her out until the next morning. It bothered her little that she'd probably wake up in her own waste if she'd gone through with it.

"No," she said.

"I'm assuming you got hurt last night when you insisted on taking care of that spirit by yourself."

"I couldn't take you with me. You're not ready."

"But you got hurt."

No, she hadn't. The hunt had been simple. The spirit of Lacey Warbeck was weak and hardly put up fuss. The job had been routine, and Hermione had gone home and to bed after that. Five hours later, however, she'd woken up in a lot of pain, and her sleeping trousers were soaked in blood.

That wasn't even the worst part.

There was _something_ coming out of her.

"Yes," she replied.

She hadn't known. Hadn't even speculated. When she looked at the calendars, it was to write down appointments with Malfoy and Snape or for research purposes on hunts. It was never to keep track of herself. She hadn't needed to for years.

Yes, she'd been feeling weak and nauseous and retched a few times, but her thoughts hadn't even gone in that direction.

"Do you have medicine? I'm sure there's something in this house for pain."

"Finish your hex bag and we'll be done."

"And if it's not right, again?"

"We'll still be done."

"We should go over the Latin one more time."

"Malfoy," she nearly yelled, and she turned around in her seat to face him. "I'm trying here."

"You should've cancelled if you weren't prepared to teach."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment before closing her book and standing. "You're right. I'm not. I'll leave. I apologize for wasting your time."

She left the room and went down the hallway towards the stairs, mentally cursing when Mr. and Mrs. Prince decided then to return from their post-dinner jaunt around the Westminster campus. They each had a protection hex bag on their persons, so they trusted the circumstances to have themselves some fresh air outside of the working schedules.

While stripping off her coat, Mrs. Prince asked, "Leaving so soon?"

"It's quite early, Miss Granger," Snape noted.

"I'm not feeling all that well this evening," she told them. "I probably shouldn't have come."

"It wasn't the lamb, I hope," Mrs. Prince said, her pale cheeks blushing in embarrassment. "It couldn't have been the potatoes."

Hermione smiled politely. "No, Mrs. Prince. Dinner was delightful." Even though she barely touched her plate.

"Narcissa," the woman enunciated and looked up the staircase. "How is he faring? Does he talk to you about Blaise?"

Hermione grabbed her coat from the rack beside the door. "I'm afraid not. These meetings are going fine. His Latin is improving, but it wasn't bad to begin with."

"Oh, darling. You're pale as milk. Why don't you stay the night and catch the tube in the morning? Severus, go make her some tea."

Snape, who had started up the stairs, glanced back at them in annoyance. "I think she would prefer to sleep at her own place tonight. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Granger. We shall see you tomorrow afternoon."

Hermione bid him thanks and was reminded she needed to wash her sheets.

Or burn them.

She'd buy new ones tomorrow.

"You're positively ashen. At least have Draco accompany you to your flat. He needs to get back to Surrey, anyway. Draco!" she called and her son came down the stairs, passing Snape on the way. "Make sure Miss Granger arrives home safely, would you?"

"Of course," he said and fetched his coat from the rack. Hermione was too tired and feeble to argue, and his mother was doing everything in her power to keeping him occupied with her. At first, Hermione believed it was because Mrs. Prince wanted her son's mind off Blaise's death. Recently, Hermione came to know the woman's intentions weren't so noble, thus, the dinner invitations and the long walks after the meals to get her alone with Malfoy. She didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Prince that regardless of how much or how little time she spent with Malfoy, Hermione would never see him that way.

In the past two months, she came to discover that Malfoy had, indeed, redeemed himself and for his crimes as a Death Eater. He was a good man, surprisingly, but she was not a good woman. She'd like to blame the hunting, but the truth was, it was her own doing. She had let hate and vengeance cloud her judgment after what Rabastan tried to pull. She had wanted to hunt her own kind because of it. Getting to know this older, new Malfoy, his equally repentant mother, and Snape had made her revaluate her priorities. Maybe it wasn't so important to hunt them than it was to find them before Crowley did.

As ironic as it sounded in her head, Malfoy deserved better than her. Not only that, he deserved a better life than he was going to get by associating with her. He shouldn't have to worry about sketching the Key of Solomon, hex bags, and properly pronouncing Latin. He shouldn't have to worry about his mother and Snape and Nott and Nott's family. He shouldn't have to protect every single person that means something to him. Malfoy's biggest worry should be the problems he faces as a policeman.

She and Malfoy walked in silence to the tube station, and she found herself instinctively leaning against him, her body weak from the blood-loss of that morning. She knew he noticed, but he didn't say anything. When they got on the tube, there was one seat available in their cart and nudged his way to snatch it while she lagged behind. When she got close, he stood up and gestured to the seat.

"Saved it for you," he said and Hermione paused before sitting down.

"Thank you."

Malfoy put his back to the pole, leaning against it and shoving his hands into his pockets. "It comes at a price. How were you hurt?"

"It's personal, Malfoy," she told him, folding her arms. "You understand I'd rather not say."

"You don't have to," he said after a pensive pause. "I reckon I badger you enough as is. Forgive me."

Once they got off the tube, he walked her to her apartment complex, and she could see that he wanted her to invite him to her flat. Not for nefarious activities but to speak with her more in a private, comfortable setting on her turf and not his stepfather's and mother's.

"Thank you for walking me home," she told him and went inside the building, taking her time in walking up the stairs.

Hermione wasn't up for company or for a heart-to-heart chat. She needed to get through this on her own. Her conscience told her she needed to call Sam and tell him what happened, and maybe if he hadn't been such an arsehole the past few times she'd seen him, she'd consider it.

What would he say anyway? He was so different from the boy who saved her from choking on gasoline fumes. She knew what that Sam would say, but this one? She could only guess.

_Thank God!_

_Well, that was close._

_It wasn't mine, was it?_

_And you're calling because…?_

_Do over when you get back here._

Hermione closed the apartment door and flung her keys on the small table beside her and stood there for a few moments before banging her fist at the wall, forcing dents into it. She slid down against the door and began to sob.

She wouldn't have been overjoyed about a baby like a normal person. She would've been horrified and would've gotten it taken care of because she couldn't be a mother. She couldn't even be pregnant. It was too dangerous. She made too many enemies, and Sam had even more. A child was an easy target and large chink in one's armor.

But still. She lost a baby.

Hermione lifted the collar of her coat and tried to stifle her cries with it. She pressed the rough material into her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, contemplating the sleeping pills in her bedroom. After ten minutes, she managed to get in there and strip her ruined sheets from the mattress and choked back some vomit when seeing that her blood had soaked through. Wadding the sheets and blankets and pillow case into a lump, she stuck it in the corner and got some stain remover from the laundry room and sprayed the cleaner on the reddish-brown smear.

Though money was tight, she was glad to have her roommates out of the flat, the happy couple finding a house to rent to start on their family three weeks before.

Hermione changed into some night clothes and downed two pills with some water and got a blanket from her closet. She curled up on the couch in the main room and waited for the drowsiness to hit her. Minutes ticked by and she could feel the effects tapping at her eyelids and weighing down her limbs. Her vision began to blur and soon sleep overcame her

The next morning when Hermione stirred, she saw Castiel sitting by her feet and sort of flinched in surprise.

"I called you, you know?" she croaked and maneuvered into a sitting position. "About where you got my ashes. You had to have known Crowley had them when you got them. You didn't say anything."

"I didn't know."

Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes and tugging at her hair. "What are you hiding, Castiel? What are you doing?"

His gaze dropped to his lap as if he was troubled, and he said, "I'm doing what's best."

"With Crowley?"

"I was aware Crowley was in possession of your remains," he admitted. "But it was not my intention for you to work for him. You were to hunt with Sam in Dean's absence, but now I realize that would've been a mistake, as well."

Hermione swallowed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was angry. What a stupid reason to bring her back to life. To keep Sam Bloody Winchester company while his brother played house with a mini-doppelgänger. Castiel caused so much trouble for her, but she was already so emotionally exhausted to enact upon her disappointment in him.

"That's why you're here," she said.

"Human life was my Father's greatest creation and in some ways, he gave that ability to the humans themselves. Conceiving children is the closest your kind can get to becoming gods. It's a very sacred feat to behold."

"You realize that I'm not…anymore."

"Yes. In my time observing humans, these experiences are generally unpleasant. However, I'm afraid I cannot imagine what you must be feeling."

"I don't even know."

Castiel nodded and then gave her a small smile. "You are still as whole as you were when I brought you back, Hermione. If you so choose, you could have a second chance."

"I'm a hunter, Castiel, and I don't expect to see forty or even thirty-five. This was my only chance, and I wouldn't have made good use of it. Besides…" She smiled sadly. "I can't imagine what a child of mine a-and Sam's would've been like. Aside from attractive and very brilliant."

The angel chuckled softly and said, "Would you like to go back to sleep? Your sleeping aid has made you very tired."

"I'll be fine."

Castiel nodded and clasped his hands, his chin tilting towards the ceiling. "I have chosen not to stay in contact with Sam at this time but if you'd like, I could visit him and pass along a message."

Hermione shook her head. "Please don't. It'll only make it worse."

"I understand. Goodbye, Hermione. Watch yourself. I do believe will try and strike again," he said and disappeared at the sound of sweeping wings.

Hermione got up from the couch and went to the kitchen, putting water in her teakettle and retrieving a tea packet form the cupboard. When she had a mug ready, she went into her room and stared at her bed in astonishment. Covering the mattress was a pink flannel bed set, very much resembling the shirt Castiel dressed her in when he raised her from the dead.

"Really?" She almost laughed but instead shook her head and petted the duvet, coming to find it was soft and warm. She took a sip of her tea and the mug town on the nightstand and crawled into bed, sending a begrudging prayer of thanks to Castiel.


	20. Chapter 20

**Late April 2011**

Hermione pulled the pen out of her messy, makeshift bun and combed her fingers through her hair while entering the inn's lobby, offhandedly thinking the place was rather crowded for a weekday afternoon. She'd just made a dent in some research at the local library a couple of streets over, having failed in location the grave of T.H. Ence. So far, she was only able to gather that the bastard was buried in an unmarked grave in the southern part of Wariston Cemetery.

For the umpteenth time, her phone buzzed and she inwardly cursed, wishing for Draco Malfoy to bugger off and die. Her call and text bank couldn't be rid of him. That buggering fool wasn't even on the same plan let alone the same company. He was racking up her phone bill with each bloody message. His worrying was absurd. They were hardly friends but casual acquaintances by circumstances.

Unfortunate circumstance, yes, but she'd really prefer him to treat her like Snape did by somewhat acknowledging her existence with a sniff and an eye-roll of disapproval. The man had made it clear that she ruined her life and, by default, his family's as well. However, in some ways he did care, for he suggested she fetch some new records and enroll in college. She could most certainly keep herself protected from oncoming threats instead of going to find them like an idiot.

"_Your stepson is a detective and constantly puts himself in harm's way," _she had pointed out over dinner, her plate of lasagna poked and prodded but sadly untouched.

"_He's an imbecile, Miss Granger. I don't need to tell you that."_

"_Severus," _his wife had chastised, frowning. _"But, Miss Granger, I do have to ask what kind of future your lifestyle will bring to you. I suppose there isn't some sort of agency you are a part of and receive benefits. Like dental."_

Hermione had licked her teeth self-consciously, remembering how large her front ones had been in her child and adolescent years. Her parents had been peeved when she chose the easy route in fixing them with magic, but she'd felt so happy and kind of pretty after the procedure. And, most importantly, she'd gotten her braces yanked much earlier than planned because of it.

Smoking and copious amounts of coffee and alcohol had done a number at her teeth in her late teens and all throughout her twenties. She'd taken great care in oral hygiene, flossing and swishing bi-daily, but before she'd officially quit cigarettes a few years previously, her teeth _had_ begun to discolor. Dying and coming back to life resolved that self-inflicted flaw.

"_There aren't any official hunting agencies but communities, Mrs. Prince. The only benefits are that sometimes I get the luxury of saving a thankless bloke's arse. Children are usually more grateful, however."_

Hermione shoved away the memory of last week's dinner and stabbed the up button on the elevator. When it dinged and slid open, she and several other women (some as young as tweens) behind her filed in. Their attire caught her attention, and she furrowed her brow. From the sounds of the seven chattering females, none of them were American but were all dressed in grungy, worn jeans as well as sturdy work boots with the exception of a tall, curly-haired blonde woman dressed in a dainty white night dress. The woman's blue eyes caught her gaze, and she quizzically smiled.

"Ruby 2.0? Wow, you're brave," she said in a thick Scottish accent.

"Pardon?" Hermione said.

"No. She's obviously Madison," said another blonde, this one dressed more substantially in jeans and a tank top and a denim jacket. "No _one_ in their right mind would show up as Ruby."

"Puh-lease! She's Lisa!"

"Her hair reminds me of Cassie's a little bit. It's quite lovely."

"Meg 2.0 all the way. I don't know what you are all talking about."

"Why don't you just ask her what she is?" a young voice piped up. The women separated like the Red Sea, and a little blonde girl in a pink cotillion dress marched up to Hermione with her little fists on her hips. Hermione hadn't noticed her get on the elevator. "Who are you?"

Hermione swiveled her focus to the little girl and then to the rest of the expectant looking women. The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Hermione turned around and let out an embarrassing yelp when a young, gawky man. On his name tag read Sam.

"Ladies, welcome! Be sure to fetch your nametags at the greeting table and be sure to pick up your gift baskets, too," he said flamboyantly, his gaze landing on hers. His smile thinned and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Your bravery is admirable, but I recommend you purchase yourself a flannel top and snatch an Ellen," he tapped his nametag, "before you get murdered. Lacey Townsend and two others showed up an hour ago in Ruby 1.0 and look where they ended up." He pointed to a far off corner of the reception hall, and Hermione saw three young women in long blonde wigs and light brown leather jackets inside a roped off section dubbed the Corner of Shame. Next to the women was a young man holding a case housing two mating tarantulas. Beside him was a teenage girl in a deep, rich red wig, a large trench coat hanging off her lithe body. Hooked on her shoulders and back was a large set of what resembled Victoria's Secret supermodel angel wings. Next to her was another girl about the same age dressed like most—jeans and flannel. Pink flannel.

The man with the Sam nametag clucked his tongue in shame. "That hot little number thought she could traipse in here and demand a nametag for her made-up character. Since Adam's introduction in section four and resurfacing in section five, some and I will not name names, have totally warped John into a total breeding machine. Apparently he's never heard of condoms because he's a got an army of daughters or something like that. Please, like that war machine could make anything other than stud muffin-y, masculine perfection. Don't get me wrong. Love the fansites and the fics, but sisters are laaaame. Can't walk out the front door without getting raped, hit by a car, tortured beyond recognition, kidnapped, impregnated, miscarrying, or being yelled at to change into something more appropriate for school. Am I right?"

"S-Sam?"

"Yes…whoever you are" He winked and mouthed 'I won't rat you out'.

"What is going on here?"

He froze and blinked. "You're not here for the convention, are you?"

"…no…"

"And that is _so_ wicked how you can just incidentally waltz in here and fit right in. It helps the boys have a type when it comes to the ladies. Oh, my God!" The man jumped up and down, squealing excitedly. "Let me buy you a drink. I'm about to rock your world with the best story ever written" He shook her hand and sighed contently. "The name's Steven. Mister Steven if you're nasty."

"I-I'm not."

"Which suits me just fine, but I'm hoping that shameful spider-boy over there is." Steven winked again and sashayed towards the bar, and she reluctantly followed behind. He got her a shot glass and order a whole bottle of whiskey. "Now every time I say Dean and _look_, I want you toss one back, love."

A few hours later, Hermione stumbled into her room with the first book of the _Supernatural _series tucked under one arm. Her other arm was loosely draped on a gentleman's shoulder for support. It did not belong to the same man who got her drunk and told her one disturbing tale that sounded familiar as hell. No, this man found her three sheets to the wind and practically unconscious on the bar after a Q&amp;A she supposedly missed in the gala.

"All right, I'm just going to..." Hermione slammed onto the bed and struggled to roll over. Her eyelids were nearly crusted over, and she was barely aware of a faint stinging itch on her wrist. She went to scratch at but struggled to do even that.

"I see you're already there pretty much."

"Thanks," she mumbled into the comforter.

"You're welcome, Hermione. Go to sleep."

In the corner of her eye, she saw him lean over and press two fingers to her head. Her vision darkened and muscles slackened against the mattress. When she awoke the following morning with a vicious hangover and cotton mouth, she found the book she received last night splayed open and smashed against her face. Buggering hell, it hadn't been a dream. Hermione had indeed stumbled upon the United Kingdom's Second Annual _Supernatural_ Convention, celebrating all things related to a fictional book series she had never heard of that wrote about a pair of brothers named Sam and Dean.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Hermione booted up her laptop and Googled the book series, coming to find a series of five sections entirely written about two supernatural-hunting brothers, the author being Carver Edlund who never wrote anything else. She clicked and enlarged his photograph and recognized him as the man who escorted her to her room. An uneasy feeling seeped inside her when recalling that he addressed her by her christened name when she hadn't even told anyone a fake name at the convention. She may have been pissed to the nines, but she'd never be so drunk to give out her real name when on a hunt.

Hermione wanted to fuss about everything more, but the restless spirt of Ence had to come first. If another woman died because she couldn't get her head in the game, that death was on her. She discarded the book and left for the library, even going so far as to forego lunch to find the spirit's grave.

Edinburgh was a hopping spot of supernatural activity, yet most of the spirits littering the area were docile and weak. Many hunters like herself just let them be. It would take an army to pinpoint every grave and burn all the remains. This particular hunt, though, was the exception. Sometimes this city did get cycles of violent ghosts, and those spirits had to get put down.

Close to eleven at night, a filthy and grave-dirt infested Hermione stalked into her hotel room. She darted into the loo and started the shower. Once clean, she wrapped herself up into a towel and noticed something she hadn't noticed before on her wrist. The small pink mark was exactly where her the pendent of her necklace resided, and she wondered if she was developing an allergy to the metal. She held up the necklace by the cord and poked at the ugly but unassuming pendent. Why she even insisted on wearing such a worthless trinket, she didn't know. It clashed terribly with her equally worthless anti-possession charm

Or she did know but didn't want to admit it.

"I hate you, Sam," she whispered to her fogged up reflection, the lie sounding ridiculous and childish on her tongue.

Though the night was coming to a close and she was tired, Hermione redressed in a fresh pair of trousers and a shirt and went down to the bar. She ordered a basket of fish n' chips and a beer. The first bottle she downed in a matter of minutes but the second she took her time with, not wanting to get too full off her drink when her dinner was coming.

Halfway through her meal, her phone buzzed and she wiped her greasy fingers on her napkin and pulled the device from her pocket to see Malfoy's number on the screen. She wiped her mouth and answered his call with an impatient "Yes?"

"Do my ears deceive me? Did Granger actually answer my bleedin' phone call? The millionth time is the charm."

"I'm on a case. I told you that before I left," she replied grumpily.

"You've been gone for _days_."

"Sometimes these things take a while, and why do you keep pestering me? Whatever offensive thing I did to you in our previous life, I'm sorry. Now leave me be."

"Unlike you, I don't have all this impractical knowledge of unbelievable shit and need an instructor to do what they bloody promised."

"I gave you material to study. I sincerely doubt you finished the raw bible I gave you."

"It's all in Latin."

"Which I told you to study, as well. I'm serious. If you haven't made any progress in the exorcism ritual-"

"You'll do what exactly? Leave my family and me to the wolves? I know you've changed, Granger, but you haven't changed that much."

"You're the one who wanted to be taught. I don't want bad things happening to your mum and Snape, but I can't protect the lot of you alone. You're some high maintenance people. Plus, I don't plan on staying in England forever."

Malfoy grew quiet and she imagined him frowning deeply. Eventually he said, "Are you going back to the States?"

"Not necessarily, but I may leave the country for someplace else. Banshees are on the rise in Ireland, but Central and South American are having itself a demigod fest with the emigration of shape-shifters. Eastern Europe is one, huge cemetery of restless, ectoplasm-y spirits. Did you know there's a prize in need-to-know societies if someone can find a way to get rid of Ivan the Terrible's ghost? Medvedev will award ten million rubles to the hunter who can get rid of dear old Ivan? Not to mention that there's been a rumor circulating that Rasputin has been spotted."

Hermione heard the familiar click of a call, and she set aside her phone with a sneer. Arsehole, anyway.

"Are you sure it's wise to leave?"

She nearly flew out of her skin when and placed a hand on her chest and watched Malfoy sit down on the stool next to her. What the buggering hell?

"What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed.

He shrugged sheepishly and opened up his palms on the bar. "I thought I would come and check on you. Make sure everything was going all right. For what it's worth, I left you several messages saying I was coming. It's not my fault you never even bothered to check them."

"Come and check on me? Are you barking mad?"

"You've been gone for a week. Mother was worried. You weren't answering your phone. I thought I should at least give her peace of mind."

Hermione sighed, frustrated that Malfoy was using his mother as an excuse. It was a legit reason. She didn't doubt Mrs. Prince was worried, but it was still Malfoy who called and left multiple messages and volunteered to come and up and see if she was faring well in the battle.

Breaking off a piece of her fried cod, Hermione dunked it in the tartar sauce and said, "Do inform your mother I am alive and hardly bruised. I am likely to return to the dining table tomorrow evening where she may continue her lovely stories concerning the incompetency of your ex-girlfriends." She snorted and downed the rest of her second beer. "By the way, _Hibiscus_ sounded like a peach. Why ever did you get rid of her? Aside from the name?"

"And Hermione is so much better?"

"Ah, but I'm not your ex-girlfriend." She chuckled and caught the eye of the barkeep, tapping her empty bottle and mouthing 'club soda'. "I'll have you know, aside from lawmen like you, no one has ever complained of my name."

Years ago when she and Junior were an item, he challenged himself during their lovemaking to chant her name over and over again whilst thrusting into her, seeing if he'd become tongue-tied during his climax. She blushed at the memory, but hid it by taking a sip of her new drink.

"I'm sure it had mostly to do with the fact that you had many names." Snatching one of her chips, he continued, "Which leads me to a question I've been dying to ask. Why Black? "

"I chose names that meant something to me in my former life. Or meant something to people that I knew. Black is unassuming. It doesn't stick out. Morgan, well, it's obvious where I nicked that from."

"What was your favorite?"

Hermione shrugged and shoved the remnants of her platter towards Malfoy. She wasn't particularly hungry anymore. "Morgan Black made me feel powerful. Jean Potter was my go-to, though, for a long time."

Malfoy toyed with the bits of fried fish before taking a bite. He stole a drink from her glass despite her frown and then whispered, "He wasn't the same after you died, Potter."

Taking her glass from him, she arched her brow and finished off her drink. "Neither was I."

The barkeep refilled her glass as she and Malfoy sat in silence. To partially eliminate the uneasy tension that sprung forth, she nursed her drink and tried not to sputter the fizzy liquid everywhere when he cautiously proposed, "May I join you in your room tonight?"

Hermione cleared the bubbly drink from her throat with a rough ahem and set down her glass on the bar. She regarded Malfoy carefully while wiping her mouth with a napkin. She then chuckled uncertainly and said, "Please tell me you've been drinking."

"We're both adults, Granger. It doesn't have to be complicated. We can both blow of some pent up energy and have it not be awkward in the morning."

"It's only awkward when you _do_ have to see the other party again, and I'm afraid until you learn to properly conjugate Latin, you're stuck with me." Hermione pinned him with a knowing stare despite her lack of experience in, not only sex, but in one-night stands. It had never been awkward with Sam because each post-coitus ended rather unfortunate: two in a fight and the last involving her waking up alone and…well…pregnant. "Besides, I haven't energy to blow. It's very rare when a hunt leaves me restless. I only left my room this evening because I was hungry, and this place doesn't do room service. If you're looking for a shag, I suggest the pub down the street. Most of the women here are remnants from a ridiculous convention last night. Stay clear from them. They're weird."

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably on his stool, a putout expression in place. "Look, I know it's not my ruddy business, but we've spent a lot of time in each other's company for the past two months, and I feel safe in assuming you haven't any occasional gentlemen callers at your door step. You're a woman and human. Do you not have needs?"

"Of course not. I'm Jesus."

"I'm serious. Not counting your occupation, there isn't a valid reason why you never have companionship."

Hermione hardened her gaze and drummed her fingers on the sticky, polished wood of the bar. "You're right. It isn't your business, but I will argue that hunting is my number one reason I'm alone. Goodnight, Malfoy. Have a nice trip back to Surrey."

He grabbed her wrist when she got up from her seat to leave. "It was stupid of me to be so forward and thoughtless. I assumed you were a certain way in which I'm more familiar with. I respect you're not."

Pressing her lips into a thin, contemplative line, she hesitantly sat back down on the stool and folded her arms. "It's unfair your mother so generously flings out your personal affairs, and you know so little about mine. Simply know that I don't have any and the majority of my former companions are the ones you've come to know through your invasive studying of my records." She took a deep breath and exhaled softly, continuing, "Also, I'm not completely daft. Given the amount of time we spend together and the hours you put in at work, I'm most likely the only female you've time for, aside from your mother. I know all those phone calls weren't _just _to ensure I was alive. And…" Another blush engulfed her face, but she didn't bother hiding it this time. "I've come to notice you like it when I yell at you during our sessions. In fact, I'm fairly certain you recall more Latin than you're letting on but hide it for the sake of me reprimanding you. Honestly, Draco, I'd like to believe I'm not wasting my time when I come over to help you."

"I don't…Granger, it reminds me of old times when you yelled at me. Nothing else."

"I didn't yell at you that much." Her phone bleeped. She thumbed the screen and skimmed the series of news articles forwarded to her email.

"It's rude to fiddle with your phone in the presence of company," Malfoy said.

Hermione ignored him and scratched her bottom lip. Did she really want to go all the way to Cardiff? She shut off her phone and scoffed. She didn't have a choice. There weren't any other active hunters nearby or mobile. Her old lot only kept to London, attempting to slowly retire from the life. Plus, with the exception of angry spirits and a few of those and that's, the job was becoming slow. Vampires, shape-shifters, were-wolves, selkies, sirens, and so on had vacated the United Kingdom.

"I won't be able to make it to tomorrow's dinner after all. I have something to take care of," she said and got up from her stool. She put a small stack of Euros on the bar and stalked away. Malfoy shuffled closely behind her, and she could feel the questions coming.

"Another hunt? Jesus, Granger, you just barely finished one. Take a break."

"Evil doesn't take a break. It goes and goes until someone stops it."

He followed her into the elevator, and she punched the third level button. "So that's it then? We're done discussing…whatever we were talking about before?"

Hermione stared at him, stepping into his space and folding her arms. She cocked her head to the side and asked, "What exactly do you want from me, Malfoy? Besides a shag?"

"Are you asking because you're interested or are you going to turn my response into a weapon and unman me with it?"

"As intriguing as the latter sounds, neither." The elevator stopped and the door slid open. She vacated the enclosed space and Malfoy kept up to pace beside her. She leaned against her room door and said, "Don't come looking for me tomorrow like you did today."

"Granger-"

"I'm serious. You are not and never will be ready for hunting. I'm teaching you how to defend yourself, not to go out looking for trouble."

"I'm trained..."

"It's completely different. You've no experience with the weapons necessary or the enemy. The thing I'm facing tomorrow—you're definitely not prepared."

Malfoy's affronted frown turned into a worried glower. His jaw clenched and he asked, "What is it?"

"You don't want to know," she said, displaying a bitter smile. She opened her door and was about to go inside when he grabbed her forearm to stop her. "You're not invited in."

"If you say so. But I nearly forgot. For the past few years, there's been a camping trip I go to every June."

Having a difficult time picturing Malfoy roughing it in the wild, she arched her brow amusedly. "Sure you do. I'll send a study packet with you and make sure you have fresh hex bags."

Malfoy stuffed his hands inside his pockets. "I was actually hoping you'd come."

Her other eyebrow quirked and she clipped a clear "No."

"It wouldn't be like _that_, Granger. Unless the fresh forest air clears your senses, and you realize you want me and attack me in the midst of making s'mores. You'd have your own tent. It's just with Theo, his wife, and daughter. I want them to be safe. It was Theo's idea you come, truthfully. He's unsure the bags you gave him will be enough, and he's concerned about Bethany and Anna."

"Malfoy," she lamented, sighing. She banged her forehead against the door a couple of time. "Fine. Whatever. But I'm not doing this for _you_. It's for Nott's wife and kid. Anyone else coming?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Blaise used to go, but that won't be happening."

" You don't need to lay it on thick, you know?" She opened the hotel door and stepped inside, sparing him a glance. "And I _will _be sleeping in my own tent."

"It may get cold at night."

"Then warm yourself with a nice, lonely wank in the privacy of your own tent. Goodnight."

To be Continued...


	21. Chapter 21

**June 2011**

**Ministry of Magic, Magical London**

Hermione stuck her lathered hands under the sink. The sleeve of her robes rode up, and she caught a glimpse of the jagged letters OOD from her MUDBLOOD scar. She quickly diverted her attention to her reflection in the mirror and shut off the faucet. Oh, gods, she needed a haircut.

The thought made her pause. Where had that thought come from? She was perfectly happy with the length of her hair. She fingered the ends of it, contemplating the dream she had the night previously. She dreamt her hair had been to her shoulders and not down her back. A bit more tame, even. Her dream also consisted of her running around a graveyard, digging up a casket, and setting fire to the remains. The moment her lighter hit the bones, she had woken all sweaty and frightened and bursting of adrenaline like she could run for miles.

Absurd! Like she could run such a distance now. She wasn't eighteen anymore.

"Strange, strange dreams," she told her reflection, brow furrowing. She dried her hands on the provided stack of towels next to the sinks of the loo and then shuffled out into the hallway towards the elevator. When the door slid open, she stilled when seeing Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the lift. His eyes met hers, and they regarded each other silently before she summoned up the courage to join him. When her foot breached the threshold, she stepped back and said while waving her fingers, "I'll just get the next one."

He arched a brow, smirking in amusement and stepping to the side. "There's plenty of room for us. As for our history…well…even the ministry groans from the pressure."

She sighed and joined him in the lift, not saying a word. The box went down, up, and side-to-side. Close to her floor, Malfoy piped up hesitantly, "I had a dream of you last night."

Hermione's stared at him in aghast. "Excuse me?"

"Not like that," he clipped, rolling his eyes at her like she was the mad one. "You were just in it, is all."

She scrunched up her face, shaking her head, already writing this conversation off and putting it behind her. "All right."

"Your hair was shorter," he said and the lift stopped and opened. He bowed his head at her. "Good day, Mrs. Weasley."

She did not return the lukewarm offering he gave but eyed him warily. When she reached The Department of Magical Creatures, she arrived to her office and sat down at her desk, counting the stacks of files in front of her. She grabbed a random one and opened it, skimming the content and wondering how the file got so far up the ladder and to her office? It was trivial drabble. Of course the vampires would not be granted territory. They needed to be beheaded.

Hermione grabbed a quill and was about to scratch her thoughts into the parchment when she stopped herself. She pinched her nose and wondered what was going on with her. Vampires being beheaded. No, she'd never sanction such a barbaric act. They were protected creatures up to an extent. She fought for their rights, having taken the case to the Wizengamot some years ago and won.

She set down the quill and leaned back in her chair. Something was off, but she couldn't place a finger on it. Perhaps she was falling ill, or her cycle was coming early, and she was simply reacting testily to her hormones.

Snatching another file, she dove into another case and read about the proposition of breeding the United Kingdom's unicorns with those from Russia. Both populations were near depletion, and Russia didn't want to inbreed in fear of producing "хромой лошади" or in other words, lame horses.

Shit, was this really up to her?

Hermione chastised herself on her internal, yet uncomely language. And, yes, it was up to her. She was Head of the Department, and she thought back to when she had the meeting with Mr. Alexsie Vtruskov a month prior about this situation. The majority of his unicorns were ebony in hue, all of their coats exquisite. He appeared rather undisturbed by the possibility of producing grey horses or another color entirely. She had liked Mr. Vtruskov. After she informed him of the possible outcome of cross-breeding black and white unicorns, he'd said, _"It's their power that matters, Mrs. Weasley. Not their coats."_

Hermione signed the forms and went on to the next file, burning through them until close to noon when she came to one about werewolves. Again, hostility rose up inside her, making her angrier than before. Werewolves couldn't be controlled. They were a danger to all those around them and needed to be, not only detained, but neutralized.

"Hermione," said a voice at the entrance of her office. She looked up and saw Ginny holding two baby carriers, each one in the strong holds of her arms. Her friend lifted one and continued, "I brought him by. I thought we could do lunch."

Hermione nodded. "Or course." She set down her quill, and Ginny handed her a carrier. Hermione lifted her son onto her desk and saw him cozy and sleeping.

_I don't have a son,_ she thought even though she could recall perfectly of giving birth to her precious Hugo over a year ago.

"You all right?" asked Ginny.

Hermione did her best to shirk her new, incredibly odd and horrid thinking patterns. She looked at her friend and gave a forced smile. "Mmhmm. Where's Rose?"

"Dropped her off with Ron. She wanted to have a Daddy-Daughter lunch with him. Too cute."

* * *

At the café down in the atrium of the ministry, Hermione studied the sleeping child at her feet and wondered if she was having some sort of belated Post-Partum Depression. He was precious, indeed, all plump limbs, pink cheeks, and pacifier. Yet, in that moment, she felt no attachment whatsoever.

Ginny returned to the table with their lunch order. She set down Hermione's tray and said, "Your rabbit food."

Hermione stared down at the assortment of fruits and vegetables on the bed of baby spinach leaves. On top of all that was a sparse sprinkling of mozzarella cheese.

"Where's the rest of it?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"My lunch."

"I know, right?" Ginny chortled and rocked Lily by gently pushing the bottom of the baby carrier with her foot. She stabbed her fork into the sizeable, grilled chicken breast on her plate. "I'll hand it to you, though. I didn't actually think you'd go this long without meat. You look good, though. The baby weight's off, true that."

"Thanks," Hermione muttered and poked at a cherry tomato with her fork. She glanced at the small cup of lemon juice off to the side and wished for burgers and beer. A lot of beer. Or better yet, some whiskey.

Damn it, she couldn't do that. She was breastfeeding.

And it was noon.

And she didn't drink. Ever. Hadn't since one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. She had gotten well and truly thrashed and said never again.

"Hey," Ginny said softly, placing a comforting hand on Hermione's arm. "Something's going on, isn't it? With you?"

"Uh…" Hermione chuckled and said, "Have you ever just woke up one day and felt like…it wasn't real. Your life, I mean."

"I pinch myself every day, Hermione. I've a good life, a good husband, beautiful children who want for nothing."

"That's not what I meant," she said, eyes settling on Draco Malfoy who stood in the coffee line at the café. He'd already been staring at her, intensely, like he was trying to figure her out or some rot. "I don't know what I meant, I guess. Never mind."

"Is everything good between you and Ron?" Ginny sighed and leaned towards her, dropping her voice. "I know this sounds bad, but take it as a grain of salt. Ron blabbed to Harry and Harry blabbed to me." Hermione's friend winced. "You and Ron haven't made love since Valentine's Day. That's a _long_ time."

"I love him," Hermione lied. "Everything's fine." She looked at her lap, shrugging. "We're both so tired from work and the kids."

Hermione did love her husband once. In fact, that morning when she woke up, turned over and saw her husband's face; she'd loved him then. Somewhere between waking up and coming to work, she lost it. Not just for him, but for everything she cared about. Ginny whom she loved like a sister and would've gladly take an _Avada_ for her, meant very little to her now. It was like seeing an old friend from childhood after many years apart. Hermione cared for her...to some degree.

They finished their lunches and before bidding farewell to Ginny, Hermione put her baby on the table and stared at him for a good, long while. She wanted to force herself back to loving him like a mother and not being endeared like a stranger. Her vision short-circuited, and she found herself in the back of a large Muggle Vehicle and staring at a younger infant, this one with brown wisps of hair poking out of his cap rather than ginger.

* * *

**Forty-Eight Hours Before…**

It's not that Hermione disliked Bethany Nott. The woman wasn't loathsome. It's just sometimes she'd say things like, "So do you have a tattoo like this lot?"

Strapped tightly and uncomfortably in the far back of the van between Anna and Oliver. From her car-seat, Anna was doing a pretty damned good job in grabbing onto Hermione's braid and tugging enthusiastically. It didn't hurt, but Hermione was annoyed. To make matters worse, little Anna was adorable and would erupt into a fountain of Disney songs. The little girl couldn't sing a damned note but, bloody hell, she knew every single lyric.

As for Oliver, he slept soundly in his car seat, the six-week old baby all comfy and completely uncaring of all the commotion around him.

Hermione blinked at Bethany in the front passenger seat before furrowing her brow. She opened her mouth and was about to ask the woman to explain, but Malfoy cut in and said, "No, she doesn't."

"Oh. Were you too afraid to get one with the boys? I'm terrified of needles, myself. Only have one tattoo. Got it at uni. My first year and was completely pissed. Don't remember a thing."

In the middle of Bethany's babble, Hermione realized what the woman was talking about and then replied, "The boys and I weren't that close growing up. I actually wasn't aware they got tattoos until much later."

"I want a tattoo just like Daddy's and Uncle Drake's," Bethany chirped, stopping mid-song to alert everyone. "Riiiiight here." She pointed to her belly and giggled.

"Surely you'd want something prettier than that hideous thing," Hermione said lightly, receiving two grateful looks from the two men in the car.

"Chip from _Beauty and the Beast_." The girl beamed and Hermione cracked a smile, imagining the tot with a chipped teacup on her stomach. What an excellent conversation starter that would be when the wee one grew up and started dating. "He's my favorite. Or Pascal from _Tangled_."

"They were such a boys' club." Bethany cast a dewy look at Nott in the driver's seat. "When Theo and I were dating, we did loads of group dates with Blaine and Drake. It's like they couldn't do anything without each other. It was kind of annoying at first but looking back, it's—I don't know—kind of cute. And Drake's mum fussed over all of them. She didn't think I was good enough for Theo. Called me a tart the first time she met me. Remember that, Drake?"

"You do recall what you were wearing, yes?" Malfoy said, smirking and Bethany huffed.

"It's wasn't _that_ bad."

Drake and Bethany started to playfully bicker, and Hermione tuned them out, eyes drifting to the greenery outside. The day was warm and nice, only few puffy clouds in the sky. The air was a bit thick from humidity but bearable. It was likely they'd get rained on one of the nights, but they packed thoroughly, Bethany brightly mentioning before in a terrible American accent that this wasn't their first rodeo.

Anna increasingly grew restless in her seat and began to fiddle with the straps of her bindings and started kicking her legs. When that bored her, she stretched her legs and kicked the back of Draco's seat. Her face began to pink as did her eyes, and she rubbed them and then her nose.

And then she sneezed.

The radio kicked on, blaring white noise at an unbearable volume, and Bethany yelped and hurriedly shut it off. She chuckled nervously and said, "That was weird, wasn't it? And look. Ollie's still sleeping." She cleared her throat and dug her through her purse. "Anna, sweetie, do you need your allergy medicine?"

"Yes, Mummy," she said quietly, tears budding in her large brown eyes.

"Hey, love," Bethany said to Nott. "Why don't we pull over in a bit and stretch our legs?"

Hermione stared at the back of Malfoy's head, willing him to turn around and look at her. When Theodore stopped at a market, she scrambled out of the van and angrily stalked inside, finding the candy section and glaring at a Mars bar. She grabbed it and read the nutritional content on the back. In her peripheral vision, she saw Malfoy come up behind her trying to act casual.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Hermione shoved the candy bar back on the shelf. "It's only going to get worse."

"What would you have me do? It's Theo's decision."

Hermione folded her arms and cocked her hip to the side. "It's scaring Anna _and_ Bethany. From the way all of you acted, this isn't new. What do you expect? That it's going to go away?"

"Maybe not all the way, but yes. Granger, the most any of us can do is unlock doors. It will get to a point Anna won't be able to do much. She's just at that age. We all went through it."

"It's going to be different. She won't get a wand to channel all that energy through. She won't have to become dependent on it, and her magic won't be limited. It's won't disappear. Her father is going to have to teach her to control it. It's going to happen to Oliver, too."

"If it bothers you so much, take it up with Theo."

Hermione rolled her eyes. The man barely tolerated her and never addressed her directly. He hadn't forgotten how she nearly broke his arm and carved out his eye with a butter knife.

She took a step towards Malfoy, dropping her voice even further. "Need I remind you of what I do and the people I know. Not all hunters are as tolerant as me."

"Tolerant?" he sputtered.

"Listen! There are those out there that would see someone like us, children like Anna as monsters. If she can't blend in, then she's going to draw attention to herself and the wrong kind of people are going to start sniffing."

"She's just a child. Who would do anything-"

"Yes, Malfoy. What kind of people hurt children because of something they have no control over?" It was a low blow, but he needed to hear it. Despite his status as a man of the law and a former Death Eater, he also needed a reminder of how cruel and sick people could be. In Hermione's time as a hunter, she came to understand the viciousness of the supernatural, but she would never understand the blood-thirstiness of people. She was reminded of the few months she was in jail awaiting her trial. Her cellmate had murdered her own toddler because she didn't want to take care of him any longer.

A pregnant silence floated between them, and Hermione scuffed the toe of her shoe, sighing. "I'm not going to apologize for bringing it up. We've both done some things we've regretted, I'm sure, but I'm serious about Anna."

Malfoy massaged his face and then scalp, his features pinched. "Even if I were to bother Theo about this, he might not be able to help her. How can he teach her to control something he no longer has himself?"

"Snape might be a better candidate."

"You can't?"

Hermione shook her head. "Like I said, I can't do much anymore. There was a short time I had access to my full magic and was able to control it…more or less, but I also had five years of knowledge to back me up. Snape has more experience. So do you and Nott, actually."

"Is this the flirting aisle," Bethany quipped, popping into view. Her smile faltered when seeing their stony expressions. "I guess not. Is everything all right?"

"No." Hermione grabbed the Mars bar she'd been looking at and a package of Turkish Delight. "I just can't decide."

"With that perky bum, you can afford to eat both." Bethany laughed and gave her a wink. "Be sure to share with Drake. I'm sure you know how he gets when everyone's eating sweets besides him. Two words. Temper tantrum."

Hermione chuckled and shoved the Mars bar towards Malfoy's chest. "Ah, yes. I remember how jealous you'd get when we were kids." She shot a glance at Bethany. "Over the silliest things, mind you. Like test scores."

"Oh, that's right. Drake said you were the best in the class."

"I was?" Hermione stared questioningly at Malfoy. Honestly, she had no idea how she fared on her OWLs after falling through the veil. Before she died, she'd been butting heads with that one boy from Ravenclaw. She couldn't recall his name.

Malfoy nodded, and she said, "I was, I guess."

"Were you valedictorian?"

"Drake must've not mentioned it, but I didn't graduate with the lot of them. I transferred elsewhere. I moved out of the area."

Moments later, they all piled back into the van, and Malfoy moved the car seats of Anna and Oliver, so he could sit next to her in the back. After a few minutes of being on the road, he said in a very low voice, "There'd been a memorial assembly at school at the very end of the term. Dumbledore announced that you scored the highest on the OWLs out of all the fifth year students."

Hermione stared at her lap and said, "I slaved a way at the library for a nonexistent future. What a bloody waste, right?"

An hour later, they pulled up to their rented camp site and filtered out of the fan, tossing their supplies onto the ground. They got to work by putting up the tents and digging trenches around them. It was then when Hermione realized that they were short one adult-sized tent. She frowned and peered into the back of the van, saying to Malfoy, "Did you forget your tent?"

"No," he said gruffly, grimacing at the dirt on his hands.

"We packed four tents," Nott said and then frowned at his smirking wife. "Right?"

"The fourth took up too much space, so I left yours out, Drake. There's plenty of room for you to share with Jean."

"Beth," Nott whined. "I told you to stop meddling. They don't see each other that way."

Hermione sent a look towards Malfoy. He hadn't told Nott he was perving on her something fierce these past few weeks? Huh.

"Then you're blind," Bethany said sweetly. "I'm sorry, you two, but we really did need the extra space for the second cooler box. If it's really so uncomfortable, Jean and I, plus the kids can share and you boys can share."

That sounded just as bad.

"We'll be all right, won't we?" Malfoy said, pleased.

"We're both adults," she quipped, not that it mattered. She'd be staying up most of the night anyway. She never did fare well in the wilderness. Plus, she brought a bag filled with books. Those _Supernatural _books. So far she was halfway through the first section. Usually, she would've been well on her way to the third section, but each book was a terrible read. They were barely English, and she struggled with imagining each setting. What she was able to grasp were the dialogue, the characters, and their feelings.

The characters, she mused. They were bloody real people, and she felt like she was invading Sam and Dean's privacy by reading the series. A few weeks ago, she had left a message on Sam's voicemail concerning the books, but he never returned the call. Truthfully, it was all a bit unnerving. Did the Winchesters know there was a five section series about them? It'd be very, very strange if they didn't.

The Sam she read about was different than the man she knew presently and only marginally different than the one she met four years ago. He was gentler and less selfish. Or perhaps he was just as selfish but in a more appropriate manner.

Hermione had always known the Winchesters didn't have the healthiest relationship and really only looked out for one another, all the rest being collateral damage. Reading the books made her realize how off the mark she was. Their relationship wasn't just unhealthy. It was goddamned catastrophic, and Hermione was grateful she never loved anything or anyone that much. She had loved her parents and would've died for them, but she wouldn't have sold her soul to bring them back to life.

Once her and Draco's tent was set up, she unloaded her bags inside and pulled out _Supernatural: Faith_. Staring at the cover for a few moments, she wondered what would've happened if Sam hadn't located that faith healer and Dean died. She also wondered how they managed to have a case fall directly into their laps. It disturbed her, actually, and bothered her to think of things such as fate and destiny controlling people's lives-putting people where they needed to be. Only recently, she accepted that there was a God because there were angels. Even when she faced her first demon and was given secondhand proof of hell and the devil, she'd turned up her nose and refused to accept anything beyond a ruddy afterlife for bad people and blissful nothingness for good. Concepts such as fate fit into the same category, yet here she was in a strange world alongside people from home she never imagined connecting with.

Hermione put the book beside her pillow and sleeping bag and crawled out of the tent and sat on one of the logs surrounding the fireplace whilst Bethany started a fire and Malfoy lugged over one of the cooler boxes. Twenty minutes later, they were gathered around the flames with sandwiches and crisps and Anna kept begging her parents and Malfoy for a scary story.

"You've heard them all, love," Bethany cooed, juggling a cooing Oliver in her arms. "Besides, you get so scared, and you keep Daddy and me up all night."

"I won't get scared this time. I promise."

Twigs snapped in the distance, and Hermione whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes on a section of trees behind her. Five hex bags she deposited in the earth surrounding the campsite, but there were other beasts that were immune to such magic. The moon _was_ full, but she checked and made sure there weren't any gruesome heart-extractions in the area or any other kind of supernatural activity.

Hermione closed her eyes for a few moments and let her other senses be her guide. She was basically magic-less like the lot of them, but like before, she retaught herself how to listen to the signs of supernatural activity. Thankfully, she could not sense anything negative, so she shirked off her worry and bit into her sandwich, enjoying the crunch of her crisps she put in it. Anna giggled next to her and staggered a few crisps on her own sandwich before taking a bite.

"Mm," Bethany hummed and set her sandwich aside. "It needs pickles." She popped the lid of the cooler box went digging for the desired additive. Hermione eyed the woman's crunchy peanut butter, banana, strawberry jam, chocolate sauce sandwich in apprehension.

"Mum loves pickles," chirped Anna, mouth full.

"Want any, Hermione?" Bethany asked, popping the lid off the jar.

"I'm good, thanks." Hermione saluted her ham, avocado, spinach, and pepper jack in response. She wasn't a huge fan of pickles but reflecting on many of her meals from late January to the beginning of April, she'd eaten her fair share.

She swallowed and cast her focus on her stomach, upset at herself for thinking about something she so desperately wanted to put behind her. It didn't help when thinking about her miscarriage made her think of Sam and how he still hadn't even bothered contacting her. Did he even know or care she wasn't in the States? There was the message she sent him back in December, but what if he deleted it just because he was an arsehole?

She still wore the charms he gave her around her wrist. They didn't do anything, but one did give her a burn-y rash for some reason which disappeared after a while and never happened again.

Hermione brushed the tip of her pinky against the pendants, debating whether or not to remove them and place them in her trunk back in her flat. Taking them off could be a symbol. Putting them away could mean putting Sam behind her for good and moving forward. Not necessarily moving on which implied her warming up to another bloke, but simply shoving Sam into his corner of her mind where she kept those such as Ronald Weasely, Viktor Krum, Junior, and Saad. If she were bitter and dramatic, she'd label the metaphorical area Men Who Once Mattered.

Again, Hermione fiddled with the pendants with her pinky but stopped when feeling Malfoy's stare. She paid him no mind and returned to her sandwich, then satiating her thirst with some water. For dessert, they toasted some marshmallows and stuck them inside Oreos, something she had never even thought about doing and decided it a tragedy that she had to die and come back to life before eating one.

With their bellies full and the night quiet, save for their tipsy neighbors in the next clearing, they all retired to their tents. Hermione, not wanting things to be awkward, offered she and Draco each hang outside the tent while the other changed in their night clothes. He agreed, and she allowed him to go first. A few minutes later, they were both in their pajamas and snug in their sleeping bags on the opposites of the tent.

Hermione situated herself comfortably inside her sleeping bag and clicked on the flashlight, so it would shine on her book. A page later, Malfoy said, "You're not going to sleep?"

"I don't sleep well in a place that doesn't have walls, plumbing, or people I trust." She flipped the page of her book, pursing her lips in disapproval at Mrs. LeGrange's manipulating of a reaper.

"This helps," he said and she lowered her book and saw him take a flask out of his bag. "Care for some?"

"I'm fine not sleeping. I need to catch up on some reading, anyway."

"Oh, yes. The material you've chosen is _stimulating_ to say the least," he said mockingly. "You had better taste when we were kids."

"Unless you're harboring a secret of your own, Malfoy, you've no idea what I'm reading."

"I saw the cover. I know all there is to know."

Hermione glanced at the cover despite being well-acquainted with the absurd image of two fit men in jeans, one of them shirtless and the other wearing an unzipped hoodie that displayed bits of his rippled, washboard torso. The latter was leaning against an old, but cherry muscle car while the other stood tall with his long Fabio hair blowing in the wind.

"These men are brothers," Hermione said, "and they wear more clothing than this. The cover was made this way to get randy teenaged girls to purchase it. I'm not sure why that is. The content is hardly adolescent appropriate and targeted more towards adult males like yourself."

"Then why are you reading it?"

"Believe it or not, this is for research. I'm fairly certain the author is privy to the supernatural…among other things. I'm _learning_ from this book and the entire series it's a part of. For example, I just barely discovered one could force a reaper to do his or her bidding, meaning to kill whoever, wherever, whenever. Although, I suspect the consequences to be severe if not fatal."

"A reaper," Malfoy said heavily.

"They're quite real, and it's best not to avoid them when dead. They merely want to keep the balance of life and the restless spirits down to a few."

"Naturally," he murmured. "May I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Don't be cute. I only want to know about the charms on your wrist. You said it's impossible for our kind to become possessed by a demon or a vengeful spirit. Why do you wear protective sigils if it doesn't matter?"

"Because, Malfoy, they were gifts."

"From that Valdini Jr. bloke, I take it. You two were chummy."

Hermione glared at him, putting the light of her flashlight on her face, so he'd know how irritated she was with him at the apparent jealousy in his tone. She wished at the very least Malfoy wouldn't be so obvious in his growing affection for her. "You've no idea the relationship I had with Junior. The charms were not from him. They came from a friend I had in the States."

"Is he…dead?" said Malfoy, carefully.

"Depends who you ask." She lowered her flashlight back to her book and then clicked off the light a few seconds later and shifted in her sleeping bag. "You know, I think I will go to sleep."

Hours went by before she actually fell asleep. When she awoke to Oliver screeching, Anna's giggling, and to the smell of bacon; one of her nostrils was stuffed and her throat was scratchy. She drank from her bottle of water, and it helped a little. Malfoy was still asleep, snoring softly so she wiggled into her day clothes in the confines of her sleeping bag instead of going to find a bush to hide behind. She then redid her braid and climbed out of the tent, noticing Bethany and Anna at the grill.

Because the three of them were the first to wake up and get ready for the day, they got first dibs on the bacon, eggs, and pancakes. They situated themselves around the fireless pit, and Hermione politely listened to Bethany's spiel on being a morning person, having a hearty appetite, and thinking she'd never marry but did so just shy of twenty-one.

"Theo was a tutor at the time, and I was just about to graduate. Early, mind you. Theo and I met in the line of Panera. He had a cute bum, so I asked him on a date. Didn't think it'd go anywhere since it was just for coffee on the campus café. In fact, we didn't even drink coffee. He had iced tea, and I had juice. We barely talked but just sat awkwardly, staring out the window. He told me he was going to be a professor starting in the fall, and I was doing an internship in the States for the summer and fall. That was that, and I didn't see him again. I went to Georgia. Do you know Georgia? Lovely place. Fell in love with the food. Returned to Westminster in January as a tutor and ran into Theo again. Actually got coffee, became friends, and so on and so forth."

"Georgia is nice," Hermione said blandly.

"Drake mentiond you were a regular renaissance woman, travelling around and all that. Bet you've seen all kinds of things. What were your favorite things about the States? As much I loved the food," Bethany winked and lowered her voice, "I do miss the men. Don't tell Theo."

Anna giggled and snuggled close to her mum's side, pleased to be sharing a secret with her.

"The men," Hermione half lied.

By the time they finished breakfast, Nott and Malfoy emerged from the tents and piled some breakfast onto their disposable plates while Hermione and Bethany readied the packs for their hike to the boys' favorite place to do archery. When they were all prepared to take off into the forest, Hermione slipped on her pack and winced at the weight and questioned herself for the umpteenth time as to why she decided to join Malfoy and his merry band of nature-lovers. Oh, all right. Malfoy and Nott didn't like this anymore than she did but were better sports about it.

The hike wouldn't have been near as bad if she didn't have the pack on her back. Hermione fared well enough, though. She wasn't out of shape by any means, but running had always been her go-to method of exercise. Hiking on an incline for seven bloody miles was another thing entirely, but she was not going to be the one to insist they stop and take sporadic rests throughout the trek. That job was for Anna and Anna alone. Believe it or not, the child only demanded they stop twice and those were for bathroom breaks.

And, bloody hell, Bethany was incredibly fit. A baby on her front and a pack on her back, she conquered the journey like a very modern, very British, _very _white Sacagawea.

They arrived to their destination in the early afternoon, and Bethany made quick work of unravelling her pack and pulling out three wrapped sandwiches—one for her daughter and two for herself.

"Peanut butter, peanut butter. Must have it now," Bethany muttered underneath her breath, the straw connected to her pack of water wedged between her teeth.

Hermione rested against the thick trunk of a tree and nibbled at her own peanut butter and raspberry preserve sandwich. She pulled out her book and wished she could be done with it already, but she still had a hundred or so pages left.

"How's your aim, Jean?" asked Bethany after her two sandwiches. She slung a quiver over her shoulder, winding the string tight on her bow. She tested the give with a flick of the finger and smiled.

"I haven't shot an arrow in well over a decade," Hermione admitted. "When I was in the States, I took up target practice. Shooting, that is. Guns."

"Wicked." Bethany nudged her head at Malfoy and Theo who were trying to figure out their bows. "Let's show these boys how it's done. They only do this once a year, so they forget what to do every time."

Hermione withheld her sigh and shoved her book back inside her pack to go and help Malfoy with his bow. He frowned bemusedly at her when she held out her hands in offering. "Just tell me what to do," he said, refusing to relinquish the bow. She instructed him by hand gestures until his bow was assembled and the string was to his liking. She watched as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and took aim at the tree trunk where he carved a target. The bow hit a few centimeters away from the center. Malfoy then offered her the bow and an arrow, a smirk daring her to do better than him.

"Wipe that look off your face," she hissed, yanking the bow and arrow away out of his hands. She readied them and rolled her eyes when Malfoy got flush behind her steady her stance and aim, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her opposite arm.

"You know, Granger," he started, whispering so close to her ear that his bottom lip brushed the lobe, "I think you're only pretending to dislike me."

Her arrow hit the target dead center, and she relaxed and turned to face him. "It's not that I dislike you, Malfoy. It's that-"

"You've someone else in mind," he finished, his nose wrinkling.

Hermione blinked. "Where did that come from?"

"It's only plain you're all hung up on some other bloke."

"Oh, Malfoy, you are so, _so_ out of touch with reality, it's more remarkable than sad."

"Bad breakup then."

"There isn't anyone."

"No?" He fingers encircled her charm-covered wrist.

"No one you have to have a pissing contest with, that's for sure."

Malfoy invaded her bubble and peered down at her through hooded eyes. "Because I'm in the lead."

"Because you're the only one playing." She reached around him and retrieved another arrow and shot it at the target, the second scraping the top curvature of the first and embedding in the center. Malfoy whistled, impressed and took the bow from her, intentionally brushing his fingers against hers. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and aligned it expertly against the string.

"Not that I can't hold my own in a competition, I do like being the only player. It certainly increases the odds, doesn't it?" He let the arrow fly, and the tip drove into the trunk of a neighboring tree. Hermione laughed, triumph and a little bit of arrogance in her mirth.

"Let me guess. You meant to do that."

Malfoy's features morphed into that familiar pinched sneer adulthood and a new world failed to strip from him. His grip tightened on the bow. "Tell you what, Granger. I shoot again and hit the target, I get a kiss."

"Mmm." Hermione glanced at the tree he didn't mean to hit and the first arrow he shot. She folded her arms and cocked her hips. "I'm not in the mood for games, Malfoy, but I'll indulge you just to see you miss again."

"I won't," he said, stretching the string and arrow back, "because if you give a man a good incentive to win," he let go and the arrow wedged in between Hermione's two arrows, "he may surprise you."

Closing her eyes, Hermione hung her head and licked her teeth. Damn!

Malfoy dropped the bow to the earth and looped an arm around her waist, drawing her close to him. Their fronts were pressed against each other, and Hermione leaned back to look up at him. "I didn't brush this morning," she said.

"I saw you do it at the pump," he said, chuckling. "You had your adorable little zipper pack and floss. I admire a girl with good dental hygiene."

"Oh, get it over with before I decide to punch you just because I feel like it."

Hermione expected him to smash his face against hers like many of the men in her past had done. On the contrary, he palmed the space between her shoulder blades while his thumb tilted her chin up. The moment their lips touched, Bethany screamed. Hermione instinctually grabbed the bow from Malfoy and another arrow and took aim.

"What's wrong?!" she asked, her gaze flickering everywhere for any possible threat.

"Oliver's gone," she hissed and picked up the empty baby pack she'd toted him in. It had been underneath a heavily shaded tree and away from the warm sun where Bethany had left him to rest.

"Gone?" Nott repeated, rushing over to his trembling wife with his daughter not far behind.

"He disappeared," Bethany said, hot tears flowing down her cheeks. "He just...v-vanished. _Right in front of me."_

To be Continued...

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**A/N: Thank you so much, everyone who's shown support for this fic in anyway. I'm so grateful. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, and I'm sorry for the cliffhanger and for the confusion of this chapter. It'll make sense in due time, I promise.**

**Sorry for any errors. Feel free to point them out, so I can put them on my list of things to fix in the future. ;)**

**Please R&amp;R. I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)**

**Please, I ask, that there be no flames. Got my very first one _ever_ not too long ago. Sure, I've gotten rude, unnecessary comments before and constructive criticism tidbits that've come off harsh, but this was something else entirely. I wasn't offended because the flamer was having more of a tantrum than an actual crisis with my work. Immaturity doesn't even make a blip on my "feels" to those who are wondering. Ain't no body got time for that, especially me. :)**


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